


The Year Neville Broke Bad

by MotherofBulls



Series: High [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bad Ass House Elves, Draco and Neville become best friends, Drug Cartel, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Library Sex, POV Neville Longbottom, Pervy Professor Sprout, Recreational Drug Use, pining neville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherofBulls/pseuds/MotherofBulls
Summary: SEQUEL to "BARMY" and "HIGH"!Neville Longbottom uses his skills in Herbology to reinvent himself as a bad ass. New year, new look--all around new Neville. In an unfortunate turn of events after accidentally witnessing an intimate moment between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, Neville's new experiment turns on its face. Will he break bad or break down?Finalist for Enchanted Awards, 2018, Best Comedy





	1. Neville, the Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!!! Those of you who have enjoyed my long fic, "High" and its one-shot sequel "Barmy" may welcome this little fic to the series, although it could very well act as a stand alone fic. 
> 
> It certainly would not be the dazzling piece of fan fiction you are about to read if not for the beta talent of SaintDionysus, my kindred spirit who largely enables my borderline inappropriate sense of humor. She is also to thank for the gorgeous artwork.
> 
> ENJOY!

 

 

Neville had never hit anyone in his life. He had cut the head off a giant fucking snake that contained the soul of a dark wizard. He’d dueled with the most diabolical criminals in British wizarding history. But he’d never inflicted physical damage on another person using sheer brute force. He’d always seen himself as too well-mannered and reasonable to do such things—or at least too much of a pansy.

Yet, here he was, biting his fist to keep himself from knocking the ever-loving shit out of that obsequious little dick fuck, Ernie MacMillan (aka, The Only Hufflepuff Who Didn’t Smoke Weed). The only thing that stopped him was the fact that MacMillan happened to be the Head Boy, so he’d probably get expelled and then his Gran would certainly murder him in his sleep.

Earlier that day, the self-important prick had cornered Neville and basically threatened to shut down his entire operation. Granted, he didn’t actually _know_ shit, but he’d insinuated that he had a hunch what Neville was up to. Neville’s eye twitched at the grating memory of MacMillan’s used car salesman vocal cadence, assuring him that, “Gee, I’d _hate_ to see a chap as nice as yourself, Neville, old boy, get yourself expelled, but see, I’d just be doing my job because, in case I haven’t mentioned it for the _twenty_ _thousandth fucking time this year_ , I’m _Head Boy_. So why don’t you just promise your old friend, Ernie, that my suspicions are wrong and that you’re not getting up to any mischief. There’s a lad!” Ernie was one of the younger 8th years, but he spoke to everyone like he was their smarmy old uncle who would present them with a shiny new Knut if they were _very good_.

So insufferable was his strict adherence to meaningless rules, had the guy been born a Muggle, and considerably less of a swot, he would have fit the bill to be one of those guys who impounded improperly parked vehicles. As it is, the guy would probably end up a bureaucrat in some gormless division of the Ministry as a professional schmoozer and knob polisher of the rich and influential. Neville didn’t care, so long as he didn’t have to put up with the prat after this year. He got that MacMillan had worked hard to become Head Boy, but Neville had also worked _bloody hard_ to change his reputation, and he’d be damned if anyone, especially a plonker like MacMillan, would take that from him.

Before this year, Neville had never been one of the cool kids. He’d never even kissed a girl, much less been privy to the more forbidden sexual liberties for which he ached desperately. While his friendship with Harry Potter and his newfound hero status might have been enough to save him from the pit of social obscurity for which people like Neville were typically destined, upon returning to school, he learned that it wasn’t quite enough to get him laid. It had been more than enough for Ron, but Neville, bless him, simply had much further to climb in order to be considered truly fuckable by Hogwarts’ female population. His stubborn layer of puppy fat, squirrely social skills, and penchant for digging in the dirt weren’t exactly valued characteristics in potential sexual partners. But recently everything changed.

Something Seamus had said while blazed out of his damn mind two years ago on Ron’s birthday had really resonated with Neville. “ _You could_ grow _this stuff, Nev!_ ” So, he did.

The first step had been finding a space. Easy. Professor Sprout adored him. The conversation between the two of them concerning his need for his own greenhouse had been eye-opening.

 

_“Professor Sprout, I need a greenhouse.”_

_“Sure, Neville. What for?”_

_“Um…”_ Eh, fuck it. _“I need a place to grow marijuana.”_

 _Sprout bit her lip and surveyed the Gryffindor for signs that he was taking the piss. Finding none, she nodded. “Well, alright then. Just be sure to keep Macmillan off your arse. I don’t give a shit if that boy’s in my house, he is a_ right _buzzkill.”_

 _Neville’s jaw dropped so low he damn near dislocated it. That was_ entirely _too easy._

_Professor Sprout leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Just be sure to remember I helped you out. Maybe, uh…throw an ounce or two my way when the goodies come in, eh?”_

 

So yeah, _that_ happened.

Then came germinating the seeds. He had managed to get his hands on just the _cutest_ little female sativa seeds from a Muggle high school chemistry teacher in Surrey. Super nice guy. Neville almost felt bad about dosing him with Veritaserum during the transaction to make sure he wasn’t getting swindled. The old Neville would never have done something quite so illegal, but the new Neville was a maverick who chopped giant reptiles into sushi. Hopefully that meant he could also operate a one-man marijuana cartel successfully, and _maybe_ , just maybe, lose his virginity.

Neville didn’t fancy himself some bloody gardener. Any idiot could throw a seed in the dirt and piss on it. No, Neville was an artist. He magically altered those seeds where they would, once they were in smokeable form, produce not just a hot-air blowing, dude-I-get-the-secret-to-life-now sort of high, but a high of true euphoria. His strain would be a one size fits all—a drug for the chill, calm, pseudo-intellectually stimulating couch session, or a party drug. It depended entirely on the needs of the user.

Once the plants flowered, Neville started to do what he did even better than Herbology—he panicked. It was an understatement to refer to running a marijuana cartel entirely composed of himself as “stressful.” He’d lay awake at night, convinced he would soon be discovered and his Dr. Jekylesque attempts to reinvent himself would be dashed to shit. His health had deteriorated. He could barely eat—which was like… _insane_ for him. His little babies needed so much love, and he needed to be strong for them.

But the plants had grown without incident and survived to maturation, exhibiting a level of vitality that the most seasoned botanist would envy. They smelled divine, and they were the most beautiful violet color. Neville could have sworn he heard one purr the other day. _Le sigh_. He was one proud papa.

His pride gave way to a protectiveness of which he had not realized he was capable. So, earlier today when MacMillan made his prattish half-threat, Neville had wanted to throttle him. To calm his nerves, he did what he always did when he was feeling out of sorts--he went to the greenhouse to check on his plants. He didn’t want to coddle them _too_ much. He just wanted them to know they were loved. As he adoringly stroked the drying plants while they hung from the greenhouse ceiling, he vowed to do whatever necessary to protect them.

He caught a glimpse of himself, surrounded by his children, in the one-way greenhouse window and raised an eyebrow at his reflection.

Fatherhood became him.

If he was being totally honest, it had been around the harvesting and drying stages where things had _truly_ begun to change for Neville. When it came to Herbology, he was never one to cut corners, so he had refused to use magic, opting instead to perform the physical labor he felt these plants so obviously deserved. Hours of digging, cutting, hanging to dry started to take a toll on his previously soft body, and his BMI nudged him into the “Hey, Look at _That_ Guy” category. He had developed the sunburn of a farmer, as well as the same sort of quiet, tired way of interacting with people.

Neville laughed to himself now as he thought about how odd it was that being shy had always made him seem “creepy” to women. Now that he was starting to look like Clive Owen’s long lost son, his demeanor inspired girls to describe him as “soulful,” “mysterious,” even “brooding.” He hadn’t even noticed the way girls looked at him until one night at a Gryffindor party, Parvati Patil had drunkenly offered to give him a hand job. He was so convinced it was a joke that he ran as fast as he could back to his dorm.

After a pep talk and a minor bout of weeping, Neville proudly returned to the Common Room where he very politely inquired from Parvati if her previous offer was still on the table. It was. He accepted. And it. Was. Awesome. Since then, he had snogged a few more girls, and a couple had even allowed him to touch their breasts. He got the impression from these girls that he could have gone further, but Neville, ever the romantic, was saving his man-cherry for someone special.

He sighed as he inhaled the aroma of his beauteous babies. If only that “someone special” was an option.

“Come on, love. No one ever uses this one,” a familiar voice, muffled by the greenhouse walls, said, interrupting Neville’s reverie.

His eyes narrowed as he stood up and scanned the area of the greenhouse with all the scrutiny of a suspicious meerkat. He knew that voice. It was the voice of someone he deeply hated.

“I promise you; I’ll make it worth your while.” Neville could practically _hear_ him sneer.

_Malfoy._

It didn’t matter that Neville was now enjoying a burst in popularity with the female population of Hogwarts. There was one girl in particular to whom he was still invisible, and it happened to be the one he’d fancied since fourth year. What stung the most wasn’t that Hermione Granger didn’t fancy him. He’d lived with that fact for years. It was the fact that even if he now happened to be all handsome and stuff, he never would have had a shot with her because she was affianced to Draco Malfoy, the prattiest arsehole to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts.

It didn’t help that the Slytherin Prince strutted around the castle with his arm constantly around Hermione’s waist, smirking like a fucking lunatic every time someone demanded to see the massive engagement ring on her finger. Pansy Parkinson had tried to pull her hair out the first time she saw it. Neville, himself, had thrown up.

He’d see the two of them in the corridors, laughing, holding hands, kissing. Malfoy seemed to take every opportunity he could to kiss her, not that Neville could blame him. If she was his girl, he’d never come up for air. And of course, Malfoy’s constant public claiming of Hermione meant that any guy who dared look at her sideways did so at risk of finding himself on the other end of Malfoy’s Stinging Hex--or at least a mean glare. Neville didn’t care for either option, if he was being honest. Malfoy’s glares alone had made him to cry more than a few times during his first and second years.

And now, as if there weren’t literally hundreds of other places in and around this castle to snog, Malfoy was attempting to defile the girl of Neville’s dreams in _his_ greenhouse—the one in which he kept his babies.

Neville bolted the doors, using all manner of complex locking spells. Nuh-uh. Not in his house.

“Weird. It’s locked.”

_Damn straight motherfucker._

“Let’s just go somewhere else, Draco. We could even go back to my dorm,” the angel voice of Hermione Granger pleaded.

“You said yourself, love, it’s a nice day. I want to have you outside,” he said with a suggestive leer in his voice.

She giggled at his declaration, while Neville dry-heaved.

“Come on.”

Neville could make out the silhouettes of Malfoy dragging Hermione by the hand to the back of the greenhouse, which was well-hidden from view. Well…everyone’s view except Neville’s. Ironically, it was a favorite spot for people to come smoke out.

But right now, Neville had a problem. He was fairly certain that Malfoy intended to have sex with the love of Neville’s young life up against the very greenhouse he could not leave without them noticing, thus exposing him as a drug dealer and, potentially, a pervert. So, it came down to this. Would he rather be _perceived_ as a voyeur or would he rather _actually be_ a voyeur? Sweat started to bead around the top of his head. Surely Hermione would see that it was all just a huge misunderstanding. He could never actually spy on his friend in such a vulnerable state.

Malfoy backed Hermione against the greenhouse wall and immediately began removing her top. “ _Fuck_ , you wore the red lace bra,” Malfoy said, practically gasping at the sight. “Hermione, you know I can’t get enough of your tits in that thing.”

On second thought, maybe he should stay. No need ruining his hard-earned reputation now. Neville cringed as he _heard_ them kiss—the subtle wet smacking peppered with throaty moans, indicating someone was getting their brains snogged out.

“I don’t want to wait, Draco. I need you inside me now.”

Neville stifled a groan as he was overcome with the urge to vomit at the thought of Malfoy sticking his evil, bully dick inside the lovely vessel that was Hermione Granger, and immediately popped a massive boner as he heard _those words_ come out of _her mouth_. Oh, that she had said those things to him, instead.

SLAM!

Neville was sure he was going to cry as Malfoy thrust into Hermione while she was backed into the greenhouse wall, her dainty legs wrapped around his waist. She began moaning and urging him on whilst she consented to be ruthlessly fucked by Neville’s arch enemy—the boy who stole his Remembrall first year, who pantsed him in Care of Magical Creatures third year, who spread a rumor that Neville was born with female genitalia during fifth year.

SLAM!

“Oh, _yes_ , like that, Draco.”

SLAM!

“ _Circe_ , you’re so fucking wet.”

SLAM!

Neville didn’t know it was possible to feel nauseated whilst aroused. He’d never been so confused in his life.

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

As Malfoy began rocking Hermione languidly into the greenhouse wall, the entire building started to shake. Neville seriously hoped the greenhouse had a stable foundation.

“Touch yourself,” Draco commanded.

 _Please don’t do it, please don’t do it, please don’t do it_ , Neville silently prayed. He wasn’t sure his weeping erection could take it if Hermione Granger frigged herself mere feet from where he crouched on the floor.

“Oh, _fuck_ yeah. Just like that, love. Sweet _Circe_ you are so fucking hot right now. Do you like that, hmm? You like touching yourself while I fuck you?”

Neville was pretty sure his boner had a heartbeat, it throbbed so badly. If only the heart in his chest wasn’t breaking.

Hermione sounded like she was struggling to breathe. “You know I do. _Gods_ , it feels so good.”

Neville was _sobbing_ from the horrendous hurt in his pants.

Draco panted. “Come for me, baby. I want you to fucking _soak_ me.”

Neville lay in the fetal position, crying silent tears over the loss of the girl he’d fancied for the past four years. He would never be able to look at her the same after this; knowing that she was truly, and completely, Malfoy’s.

“Draco…” she sighed. “…I’m so close.”

The greenhouse shook harder. Somewhere in the part of Neville’s brain that wasn’t devastated or disgusted he was genuinely concerned for the well-being of his babies. If the greenhouse went, where would they live?

“Ahhh… _Hermione_ ,” Draco sounded pained. “…I’m… _oh fuck_!”

Both of them released animalistic yelps and filthy expletives, and the walls of the greenhouse thrummed. Neville assumed it meant they came.

Honestly, he was kind of relieved.

The End of the Sex was followed by a minute or ten of kissing sounds, sighs, and sweet murmurs regarding one another’s stellar performance.

Neville hated to admit it, but it was kind of sweet. _Yeah, right_ , he mentally chided himself. _Imagine Malfoy being sweet? It’s not fucking possible. He has no heart._

“I love you with all my heart, Hermione,” Malfoy whispered loudly enough for Neville to hear.

Neville rolled his eyes. _Whatever. Guy just had an orgasm. Of course he loves her after that. But she’s too smart to fall for it._

“I love you more.”

Neville gagged.

Long after the two of them straightened their clothes and left the vicinity, Neville remained crouched on the greenhouse floor, firmly in the fetal position.

“Well,” he sighed. “That’s sex ruined for me.”


	2. Neville, the Entrepreneur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor. A proposition. A deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely beta and friend, SaintDionysus is to thank for the cleanliness of this chapter and the lurvely artwork.

 

 

If one good thing, and really there was only one, came out of Neville’s accidental voyeurism, it was that he no longer had a crush on Hermione Granger.

Sure, she was still pretty. That hadn’t changed. And nice. He still liked her as a person. But her voice no longer inspired the butterfly herd in his stomach to flutter madly. No longer did he follow the journey of her curls as they bounced delicately when she moved. And best of all, he no longer felt a punch in the gut at seeing her on Malfoy’s arm.

Every time he saw her walk through the corridors or raise her hand to answer a question in class, all he could see was Malfoy all over her. No offense to Hermione, but it was over. That did it. Aside from the fact that Malfoy was undeniably the biggest prick Neville had ever come across in his lifetime, he knew he’d never be compatible with her...like...in a sex way. Hermione Granger was no faker, and if his memory served him right (and goddammit, it _really_ served him), she sounded as though she had truly enjoyed what Malfoy did to her.

Neville might have been a virgin, but he had an inkling as to what he’d be like in bed, and _that_ wasn’t it. In fifteen minutes of unrestrained passion, Malfoy managed to do the one thing Neville had failed to do in four years—quell his love for Hermione Granger. Now he could go back to being her friend and no hard feelings that she didn’t love him back. It was kind of a relief, really.

All the same, he wasn’t about to buy Malfoy a fucking fruit basket. Where his burning for Hermione had cooled, the fiery rage Malfoy inspired only heightened. That arrogant sneer the Slytherin perpetually wore seemed to shout, “Oh, _yeah_. I get to fuck Hermione Granger’s brilliant brains out on a regular basis and the rest of you losers don’t. And she _looooves_ it.” Neville was positive that was the subtext behind Malfoy’s overall unendurable presence. It didn’t matter that Neville no longer loved Hermione. That was just fucking rude.

Neville couldn’t stop the rolling of his eyes at seeing Malfoy’s fingers stroke her lower back like they were contemplating building a summer home there. The kisses he placed on her cheek when they parted seemed ostentatious and unnecessary. He even held her hand in an arseholish way. Malfoy was, quite simply, undeserving. And no amount of non-crush Neville had on Hermione would ever change that.

As he no longer had to fit ‘Pointless Pining’ into his schedule, he had more time to devote to his babies. His beautiful, sweet-smelling babies who would never prefer blond Slytherin prats to him; _they_ were his priority. However, he was beginning to worry that maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew. The plants were almost ready to break down, and then he’d need to weigh and package them, and before he knew it, it would be time to think about distribution. Neville might be a damned fine botanist, but he was no businessman. Maybe he needed a partner? But there was no one he trusted enough with this, so it was out of the question.

He contemplated this dilemma as he locked the greenhouse after spending several happy hours spoiling his babies. His worries dissolved when he turned his back to find himself face-to-face with Hermione and her Ferret Lover.

“Neville,” she said sweetly, her eyes widened in shock. Clearly, she did not expect to see him here. “We were just…um…what are you doing here? Is…this your greenhouse?” Her cheeks turned the most adorable hue of pink. (Come on, she was still hot! Neville was cured of a crush, _not_ blind.)

Neville looked to Malfoy who was surveying him with an unreadable expression. He had always heard girls complain about guys undressing them with their eyes. Although this wasn’t at all the same thing, it still left Neville feeling as though every secret, every insecurity was laid open for Malfoy’s viewing pleasure. Needless to say, he didn’t care for it.

“Just a project I’m doing for independent study,” he said, tucking the keys into his robe pocket. He thought he saw Malfoy’s mercurial eyes flicker for a moment as he did so, following the movement, but he put it out of his mind. “What about you?”

Useless question. He knew what they were doing. They must have decided that they liked his greenhouse as a new and exciting location in which to fuck and were back for seconds. Maybe even thirds. Dear _Merlin_ , he hoped it was only seconds.

Hermione tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just going for a walk.”

Neville nodded, not missing the way Draco’s grip on her hand tightened. He supposed he should feel mildly flattered Malfoy even saw him as enough of a threat to render the display of dominance necessary. Probably not a very big threat, but a threat all the same. “That’s good. It’s a nice day for a walk.”

The three were silent for a moment. Neville stared at the grass near his shoes. Hermione stared at her fingernails. Neither noticed Draco’s gaze firmly fixed upon the greenhouse door. Malfoy broke the silence first. “We should get back to the castle, love,” he said, swinging Hermione’s hand in his.

“Right. We should,” Hermione said, following his lead past the greenhouses to the side entrance.

Neville released an internal sigh of relief at seeing them leave. Had he been paying attention to the lovers as they walked away from him, he would have noticed Malfoy turning his head just enough to shoot one last look at the greenhouse, his eyes sparkling with suspicion.

_____________________________

 

Neville was sitting by himself at a table in the library surrounded by what could only be described as a minor fortification of books on Herbology, botany, and Muggle gardening. All of them had proven worthless thus far in his quest to find a solution on simplifying the breaking down process of the plants. He was not looking forward to the laborious task. Plus, he needed to figure out how to mask the smell. Now that they were drying, they were starting to attract Hagrid’s boarhound, Fang, as well as a small herd of doxies, a couple of families of fairies, several horny squirrels, and Argus Filch. _Merlin_ , if anyone could benefit from this product, it was that old coot. However, Neville suspected his interest lay more with his ardent desire to catch students breaking school rules rather than a curiosity about botanical recreation. Neville had given it his very best Notice-Me-Not charms, but they wore off every few hours. He ran back and forth so much between the castle and the greenhouse to freshen up those charms, he was sure to be found out soon.

“Are you finished with that?”

Neville’s eyes stilled on his page. Was someone talking to him?

“This one here. Can I have it, or are you still using it?”

Neville lazily followed the pleasantly throaty female voice to his immediate left. A book on Muggle agriculture. His eyes traced the finger pointing at the book, up the attached arm, over the delicate collarbone, the long neck, and into the face of a tall, rail-thin blonde girl Neville was sure he’d seen around, but he never caught her name. Was she in his year?

“You alright?” she asked.

Neville shook himself. “Yeah, sorry. Um…take it. I’m finished with it.”

He wasn’t. He hadn’t cracked it open yet, but he was honestly so tired, he didn’t think he’d find the energy to scour it.

“Thanks.” She tucked a lock of fine, shiny hair behind her ear. She had a quirky confidence Neville found quite appealing. She looked like the kind of girl who might have an American guy’s name, like Charley, Alex, or Andy. He bet she smelled good.

He blinked when he realized she hadn’t left yet. “I’m Neville,” he said.

“Hannah. And I know who you are. You’re the guy who chopped that snake’s head off.”

Neville bit his lip to control his smile, feeling his face heat under her hazel eyes. “Yeah, that was me.” He tried to keep any Malfoyesque arrogance out of his demeanor as he basked in the attention of the attractive female presence before him. “I know I’ve seen you around, but I can’t quite place how I know you.”

She smiled. “That’s alright. I’m in Hufflepuff and we don’t really draw too much attention to ourselves. But I was in the DA fifth year.”

Neville grinned handsomely. “ _That’s_ it. I knew I remembered you.”

“Yeah, I remember you too.” She returned his smile and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, thanks for the book, Neville.”

“Yeah, you too.” His eyes crossed as he realized his blunder. _You too? Nice job, dumb fuck._

Hannah laughed brightly. “I promise I’ll bring it back to you in one piece.”

Neville’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah. Um…thanks. That would be good. Because you know…I’ll need it back.”

He wouldn’t.

She nodded, looking over her shoulder as she walked away. “I’ll find you.”

Neville sat there slack-jawed as Hannah disappeared from his view. He shook himself after a while, realizing he must look quite the sight, catching flies because a pretty girl spoke to him.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. Malfoy be damned. It wasn’t half bad to be Neville Longbottom right now.

____________________________

 

Later that day Neville sauntered over to the greenhouse with a new bounce in his step. He wondered how soon was too soon to ask for that _very important book_ back from Hannah. As he tried to control his swagger he hoped to Merlin, for the second time that day, that he didn’t look like Draco Malfoy.

Neville reached the greenhouse door and performed the series of unlocking charms and unearthed his key. When he opened the door, his good mood vanished.

Speak of the fucking  _l_ _iteral_ devil.

“Malfoy?” Neville struggled to maintain composure. “What the _fuck_ do you think—”

“Shh, Longbottom. I’m thinking.” Malfoy just stood there, pewter eyes narrowed, taking in the behemoth of mind-altering potential before him. “Alright. You can speak now.”

“Oh, may I? Thank you ever so much. You fucking twat.” Neville cleared his voice. “What the _living hell_ are you doing in my greenhouse? How did you even get in here?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes as if even contemplating how to answer those questions bored him. “A more appropriate question, Longbottom, is why don’t you lock your key up when you don’t have it on you?”

Neville sputtered. “I…I…I keep it in a drawer in—”

“In your bedside table. Yes, I know. That wasn’t my question. It seems to me that if you had any real interest in keeping this little project a secret, that you would have kept your key under…well…lock and key.” The prat smirked at his self-perceived cuteness. “And honestly, with the back-and-forth, and back-and-forth between here and the castle—you were practically begging someone to catch you.”

“Why are you here, Malfoy?”

Malfoy smirked triumphantly. “I want in.”

Neville stared at the blond for a moment before doubling over laughing. It was a true laugh. A cathartic laugh. It came deep from within. Did Blondie honestly think he would just _hand over_ his babies? It was so absurd Neville couldn’t even find the will to be angry about it. “You want in. _Wow_ , Malfoy, thank you. I needed that.”

“I’m not fucking around, you irrelevant piece of buggering fuck. You’re _lucky_ it was me who found your little operation here. All it took was a well-placed _Accio_ , a bit of deduction, and a replication charm and I found you out. Plus, you can’t honestly think to break all this down yourself. Face it, Longbottom. You need me.”

Neville hated the words coming out of the smug gash in Malfoy’s ferrety face. But he couldn’t deny that they carried some merit. He had been sloppy. And overwhelmed. The two likely went hand-in-hand and he couldn’t deny that he had been wondering how he could possibly do everything else himself. Under other circumstances, he would have welcomed a confidant. But Malfoy certainly would not have been his pick.

“Why should I trust you?”

“You know, Longbottom,” Malfoy’s smirk turning nasty. “The other day when I was making sweet love to my fiancée…you know my fiancée, right? You should. You’ve lusted after her since before your balls dropped.”

How the _fucking shit_ did Malfoy know about his crush on Hermione?

“Anyway, I was…shall we say, enjoying her company the other day on the other side of that wall over there, and it was just the strangest thing, Longbottom. I could have sworn I heard a noise coming from this very building. It sort of sounded like the strangled death rattle of a filthy little perverted wanker who’s arse I should pummel into a pulp for even daring to listen in on us. But I could be wrong.” His eyes hardened and glistened with something that looked a bit like victory.

“Look…Malfoy. I didn’t mean to—”

“Those noises you heard her make? They are _mine_ , Longbottom. Every part of her pleasure belongs to me because _I_ am the one giving it to her and I will be the _only_ one to do so for the rest of our lives. You are not _entitled_ to hear her noises. They were not for you, Longbottom.”

“I know. And I swear to you, I have no intention to—”

“To _wank_ to the thought of what Hermione sounds like when she comes? Probably too late for that, I’d wager. I don’t care about your _intentions_ , Longbottom. The truth is, you fucked up. And you owe me. Because believe me,” his jaw clenched, “I am _fucking_ pissed off.”

Neville’s eyes sparkled with the rage of a trapped animal. “If you knew I was in here, why did you keep going?”

“The day I let you keep me from sex, Longbottom, will be a cold day in hell,” Draco said humorlessly. He looked ready to pounce. “It’s no one’s fault but your own that you listened in on us. I wasn’t even completely sure my suspicions were correct until I saw you the other day coming out of here.”

“If you were a proper lover to her, you’d be more concerned about her modesty.”

“Her _modesty_. Firstly, don’t give me that patriarchal shit, Longbottom. Hermione is a _woman_. She knows what she wants and she doesn’t need me to tell her. Second, what the fuck do you know about my concern? I’m fucking _livid_. The only thing keeping me from intimately acquainting your head with your arse is that fact that it’d be far more of a punishment for you if I held it over your dense, oversized head. Don’t think for a minute that if you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again I will hesitate to hang you up over the Quidditch pitch by your balls. And lastly,” his wicked smirk returned. “You were _there_ , Longbottom. You should know exactly how _proper_ a lover I am to Hermione.”

“You’ve made your point, Malfoy. Hands off your girl. Don’t worry. I don’t feel those things anymore.”

“You’re no threat to me, Longbottom. I just want you to understand that you needn’t waste your time. And, of course, if you decide you don’t need a partner, my tongue can be rather clumsy in letting certain information _slip_.”

“I _got_ that, Malfoy.” Neville glared daggers at him. “You want to be partners? You realize that means that you’ll do half the work?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Well, I can’t bloody well let you do everything, can I? Otherwise I’d _never_ see a return on my investment.”

Neville rubbed his face in frustration. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this. Especially considering the fact that you barged in here and basically _forced_ your way in on something that was supposed to be _mine_. I mean, where do you get off?”

Malfoy smirked. “With my bride-to-be, of course. In ways and places you can’t even _begin_ to imag—”

“I don’t need a bloody _reminder_ , Malfoy.” Neville mentally kicked himself for setting Malfoy up for that one. “What can you bring to this? I understand Herbology. I developed the strain. I’ve done all the physical labor thus far. What can you do?”

Malfoy looked around the room. “If you break this down properly and sell it within a properly controlled operation, hiring a few foot-soldier types to interact with your clients and protect your identity, you’ll be rid of all this easily before graduation. And you’ll gross about…” Draco thought for a moment. “Close to 100,000 Galleons after I take my cut.”

Neville’s eyes widened. _100,000 Galleons_? That was a lot of money. He never anticipated he could actually get rich from his little hobby. He had been in it for the love of the thing.

“But if _you_ run this dog and pony show, Longbottom, you’ll gross closer to 40,000 Galleons continuing the way you’ve been up to this point. And that’s assuming you _don’t_ underestimate the value of your product. Knowing you, you’ll probably give the stuff away. You need subtlety, elegance, someone to inspire fear.”

“I _chopped_ the head off—”

“Yes, yes, Longbottom we _all_ heard. But unless I’m spitting Parseltongue at you and you’re wielding a five stone sword, I see no reason to be in the least frightened of you. And I’m of the majority opinion. Gryffindor or not, you’re a pussy.”

“I’m not a pussy.”

“Because you killed a snake?”

“The thing was _huge_.”

“I _Avada’d my father_. I win. You need me.”

Neville was taken back by that. He’d heard rumors that Malfoy had been involved in his father’s demise that day the Death Eaters broke into Hogwarts, but he never knew for sure what had happened.

 _Fuck_. Killing your own father…that shit was cold. Plus, it was Lucius Malfoy. He might have been merely a servant to Lord Voldemort, but if you stood the two of them side by side, an ignorant layman probably would have assumed their roles were reversed. After all, who wouldn’t fear the impeccable, evilly elegant Lucius Malfoy over the noseless bald dude with the dicky teeth? “Why? What’s in this for you, Malfoy? You don’t need the money, you despise me…why do you want to go into business with me?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I’m bored.”

Neville knew there had to be more, but he wasn’t about to push it just yet. “What are your terms?”

Malfoy brightened. “Because I’m being such a good sport coming in and saving your, I assume, hairy arse from certain failure, I’ll take seventy percent.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “ _Seventy percent?_ You’ve got to be joking. It was my idea! I did all the work.”

“There’s a difference between starting a business and keeping it, Longbottom.”

“It’s extortion!”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes in contemplation. “If you think about it, it’s really more like blackmail. But sure, I’m not fussy about labels.”

Neville fumed. “I don’t think Hermione will be as upset by my mistake as she would be by you exhorting and stealing from one of her oldest friends. Do you think we should ask her? Thirty percent, or _nothing_.”

Malfoy smirked. “Well, look at you, growing a pair. You know, Longbottom. Maybe you are more cut out for this than I originally thought. But it’s forty percent or I’m walking out the door and you can do all this yourself.”

Neville nodded. “Done.”

The two boys, the fair and the dark, shook hands.

Neville wondered if he’d just made a deal with the devil.


	3. Neville, the Stud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SaintDionysus and LastBornSlytherin both graciously applied their beta talents to this chapter. 
> 
> BEAUTIFUL artwork by SaintDionysus!!!!
> 
> Can you guys spot the original character I inserted into this fic who ALSO played a role in Hot for Teacher? (Also "Barmy", but that one's in the same universe as this fic, so I don't derive quite as much pleasure from that fact.)

 

 

“Oh, _fuck_ no.”

“Do you have a better plan, then? You have no employees, no lackeys. Honestly, Longbottom, you should never look a gift hippogriff in the beak.” Draco shuddered at the expression. “Trust me.”

“I don’t want to use _house elves_ Malfoy.” Neville looked around the greenhouse at the dozen or so creatures, all of whom looked like a drunken three-year-old had dressed them, forming an assembly line to break down and de-seed the plants. In truth, they all looked out of their minds _delighted_ to be there, which made it all the more difficult to turn them away. “If Hermione found out about this—”

“ _I’d_ be the one in trouble, Longbottom. And you’re mad if you think I’m telling her. Besides, even if she did _somehow_ find out, all she’d need to do is talk to the poor little buggers to see how bored they are. With just my mother at the Manor, there’s not much for them to do. Believe me, this is the most stimulation they’ve had in months.”

Neville watched as an industrious-looking house elf in a satin lace-trimmed pillowcase climbed on top of one of the tables, holding a bullhorn in her hand. As she raised the device to her mouth, her shrill, enhanced voice bounced off the walls of the greenhouse. “ _PLUCKY, YOU IS NEEDING TO BE PICKING THE SEEDS OUT OF THIS PILE AGAIN BECAUSE WHIMSY IS THINKING THAT WHOEVER IS BUYING THESE ONES WILL GET A BURNING SURPRISE IN THEIR THROATS. WE IS WANTING MASTER DRACO’S CUSTOMERS TO GETS THE VERY BEST. NO ONE IS BEING LAZY HERE, PLUCKY!_ ”

Neville had never seen such a bizarre overseer. It was grotesquely hilarious to watch the tiny, bat-eared, orb-eyed house elf with the bearing of a German general drive her colleagues in their labor.

“ _BIPSY YOU IS MAKING THE BUDS TOO BIG!!! YOU MAKES THE BUYER DO YOUR JOB. GETS WITH IT, BIPSY!_ ”

Neville oddly feared her. “…Whoa.”

“I know, isn’t she something?” Draco asked, his eyes brimming with pride. “She practically raised me, you know?”

Neville contemplated everything he had ever heard about Muggle psychologists’ theories regarding how Mummy-complexes (or in this case, Mummy-figure-complexes) often infiltrated men’s preferences in their desired traits of potential mates. “That…oddly explains so much.”

A sturdy knock on the greenhouse door diverted the two young men’s attention from the house elves. Draco scowled at Neville. “Expecting someone, are you?”

“Calm your tits, Malfoy. It’s just Professor Sprout.”

Neville opened the door to admit the large, apple-cheeked woman. “Alright, Neville? Just wanted to check and see how everything’s coming along,” She paused when she saw Malfoy standing there, arms folded, sour expression on his face. “Mr. Malfoy?”

“Malfoy here, is going to be my partner, Professor.”

Her face spread into a wide grin. “Oh, how lovely! It’s always a treat to see inter-house cooperation.” Her eyes widened slightly at the scene in the background. “Are those house elves?”

“Mine,” Draco intoned.

She examined Draco with an unplaceable expression. “Neville, you didn’t mention that you and Mr. Malfoy were friends.”

“We’re not,” they both said simultaneously.

“I’m just blackmailing him,” Draco said.

Professor Sprout released a rambunctious belly laugh. Draco’s cold expression remained unbroken, as though he contemplated why anyone would ever find it funny that he was directly involved in the blackmail of a classmate.

Fucking plebeians.

“In life, as in business, it is often necessary to work with those you’d rather not. Good on you boys for learning the lesson early,” she clapped Neville on the back so hard his knees buckled. His eyes widened as she made no attempt to remove her hand from his back. “It’s such an important lesson.”

“Sure, whatever,” Draco said dismissively. “How exactly do _you_ fit into all this, Professor?”

She _giggled_ at Draco’s question. Fucking giggled. Neville didn’t think of her as the sort of woman even _capable_ of giggling. Truth be told, he never really thought of her as female, period. “I provided Neville with the greenhouse, of course,” she said, running her hand in circular patterns over Neville’s back.

Neville cocked an eyebrow. This was new.

And weird.

“And of course, I provide,” Professor Sprout continued, lowering her hand “ _emotional_ support, should Neville,” she batted her stubby eyelashes, “ _or_ yourself ever require it.”

Neither Draco or Neville could fight the pained twin grimaces that spread across their faces.

Eew.

Professor Sprout didn’t seem to notice. “Mostly, I help you keep your secret from those who would oppose this enterprise.” Neville wondered where the bloody hell her secret-keeping skills were when Malfoy found out. She still hadn’t removed her hand. “If you should ever need anything, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Sprout said, wetting her lips with an odd look in her eye neither boy felt comfortable with, “I hope you’ll not hesitate to ask. After all, I’m here for _both_ of you.”

There were several moments of silence that followed Professor Sprout’s suggestive offering. During this time, she failed to notice the two boys exchange looks of horror in a rare moment of camaraderie.

“Well,” she said, allowing her eyes to travel inappropriately over Draco’s body, “I’ll leave you boys to it.” She gave Neville’s shoulder one last unwelcome squeeze and turned to exit the greenhouse, muttering under her breath what sounded like, “ _Dear boys will be the death of me._ ”

After she was gone, both young men stood in silence, their eyes narrowed, saying nothing.

“Was that fucking real?” Draco asked.

“…Yeah,” Neville replied.

Draco stared blankly into the distance. “I need a shower.”

Neville nodded. “I need a hug.”

Draco ignored him. “I need to find Hermione, strip her out of all her clothes, and fuck her until that memory has left me.”

“I need cake,” Neville muttered. “Lots of it.”

Draco turned his cold gaze on Neville. “Keep that old bitch’s involvement _minimal_ , Longbottom. I don’t fancy being molested by a rapey old crone.”

“Me neither,” Neville said, grimacing. “That does somewhat put a new spin on a few of our past encounters.”

“Don’t want to know,” Draco said.

“ _THAT LADY IS LOOKING AT MASTER DRACO AND HIS FRIEND LIKE THEY IS MEATS_ ,” Whimsy said through her bullhorn.

Draco grimaced. “Ugh, Whimsy.” Draco turned to her with a disgusted expression on his face. “ _Please_. Do not _ever_ call Longbottom my ‘friend.’”

Neville turned white as a sheet. “You don’t think she gave me the greenhouse because…” Neville gulped. “Do you?”

Draco smirked. “It’s called _grooming_ , Longbottom. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve nothing against accepting gifts from creepy old ladies who are obviously after my pants—”

“Slut,” Neville muttered under his breath.

“—but when it comes time to collect, I want to be clear, I am _not_ comfortable with this.”

“You think _I_ am?” Neville asked.

Draco shrugged. “You’ve always been her pet. Plus, you’re kind of a weakling, which makes you prime meat for a sexual harasser.”

“I am _not_ a weakling. Need I remind you that I _chopped the head_ off a—”

“Off a snake. Yeah, Longbottom. I _know_. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it. At the end of the day, you’re still...well... _you_.”

Neville folded his arms angrily. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Draco rolled his eyes as though Neville had just asked him to describe the color ‘blue’ or define ‘the.’ “It doesn’t matter how many illegal plants you grow, or snakes you kill, or old ladies you play rentboy for—”

“I am _not_ playing rentboy!”

“—you are still, and always will be, a personification of the pure, _unadulterated_ cretinism that is Gryffindor house.” Draco grinned charmingly. “My fiancée being the obvious exception. Now, come over here and help me with the scales.”

“No.”

Draco sighed dramatically and turned to face Neville. “What’s that, precious?”

“ _No_ , arsehole.” Neville turned as purple as the babies he had birthed. “I’m not going to let you order me around or talk to me like I’m stupid. I’m _not_ bloody Crabbe or Goyle. If you’re going to work with me, Malfoy, you’re going to be fucking _nice_ to me.”

Draco scoffed. “Didn’t you hear Professor Pervert? We don’t have to get along to work together.”

“I don’t care. I won’t work with you if you continue being a cunt.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Longbottom? A goddamned friendship bracelet?”

“I _want_ you to treat me with respect. You must be capable of it, otherwise Hermione’d never put up with you.”

Draco’s mercurial stare did not betray a single expression. He continued to stare in Neville’s direction looking past him for some time until Neville wondered if the Slytherin even heard him at all.

“Malfoy, are you—”

“I’m _thinking_ , Longbottom.”

“What?”

“Thinking. That thing actual intelligent people sometimes do? Surely you must have stumbled across it accidentally a time or two.”

Neville’s face fell. “Okay, _that_ —comments like that will earn you a swift kick in the arse, Malfoy. You _and_ your house elves.”

“ _WHIMSY IS HEARING THAT, MISTER LARGEBOTTOM, SIR_ ,” Whimsy said through her bullhorn.

Draco stifled a laugh at hearing his house elf so exquisitely bugger up Neville’s name. He bit his lip when he saw Neville shoot him a glare in warning. “Fine. I’ll try to be…” he looked as if the word physically pained him, “ _nicer_ to you, Longbottom.”

Neville nodded. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Now, would you _please_ be so kind as to assist me with these scales?”

Neville smirked. “I think I can manage that.”

Draco rolled his eyes when he turned his back to Neville. “I’m not making the same deal with Professor Pervert.”

Neville laughed in spite of the distasteful notion that Malfoy could amuse him. “Not your type, Malfoy?”

Draco chuckled. “Not quite. Too young, really. Hermione’s the exception, but I typically only go for women in their early hundreds.”

Neville laughed loudly at that. “Alright, Malfoy. Let’s get to work.”

____________________________

 

“Are you daft?” Draco asked as he and Neville occupied a large table in the library. “Notice-Me-Not charms are infamously volatile. These books say you can just use cedar to cover up the smell.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “Pretend, just for a moment, that I’m better at Herbology than you, Malfoy. I _know_ about cedar. But that only takes care of non-magical creatures. What about the doxies and fairies? They _live_ in trees for Chrissake. Cedar won’t keep them out.”

“Wormwood will.”

Neville rubbed his temples in frustration. “Wormwood is toxic to _Cannabis Sativa_. How do you _not_ know that?”

Draco sneered. “How could I _possibly_ be _expected_ to know that?” '

“You’re a fucking _drug dealer_ , Malfoy!”

“ _Shhhhh!_ Say that a little louder, why don’t you?” Draco looked frantically around them. “And I apologize if I’m not swotty enough about botany for you, Longbottom. But believe it or not, this partnership doesn’t take top priority in my life.”

In an act of poorly feigned sympathy, Neville put his hand to his heart. “I am ever so sorry if growing marijuana is interfering on your snogging time with your girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” Draco corrected.

Neville rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. How could I forget?”

Draco smirked. “Just trying to be accurate, Longbottom.”

Neville’s expression flattened. “No, really. I’m serious. How could I forget? I’m _actually_ asking. Because I’d very much like to.”

A feminine throat cleared from behind him. “Um…Neville?”

Neville whipped around. “Hannah.” His entire face lit up with a ripe blush. “Hi. Um…do you want to sit down?” He immediately began clearing a spot for her.

She smiled. “No, that’s alright. I wouldn’t want to interrupt. I just thought I’d drop this book off.”

Neville shook his head vehemently. “You’re not interrupting at all! Malfoy was just leaving actually.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Malfoy said. “But cheers for making a bloke feel special.” Malfoy smirked with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Neville glared daggers at Draco. “Are you _positive_ you don’t have to go, Malfoy?”

Draco shrugged and leaned back in his chair, yawning. “Got nowhere to be.”

Neville wondered if it would be considered poor showing in front of a girl one liked to commit a bit of mild manslaughter. “Oh, but _remember_ you had to go and check on our Herbology project? The charm will probably wear off soon.”

Draco aggressively refused to miss the show. “Not for a while, actually.” He leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head. “But _really_ , Longbottom, your ardor to spend time with me is downright embarrassing.”

Neville rolled his eyes and turned to Hannah. “Hannah, you know Draco Malfoy, right?”

Hannah nodded. “We’re prefects together, but we’ve never been formally introduced.”

“Charmed,” Draco said with a bored drawl.

“Anyway, Neville, I just wanted to drop this off.”

Draco leaned in to read the title of the book. “ _An Agricultural History of the Hebrides_? Top of the Flourish  & Blott’s Bestseller List, that must have been.”

“Ignore him,” Neville intoned.

Hannah grinned. “It is a tad obscure, but it was useful to me in my Muggle Studies project. So, I guess I should thank you for letting me borrow it, Neville.”

Neville ignored the kissy faces Draco was making at him. “What was your project about?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“Um…” Hannah shifted uncomfortably as Draco observed the pair like a ten-year-old boy opening a Firebolt at Christmas. “It was about world hunger in the Muggle world, actually, but I touched briefly upon how Muggles in inhospitable climates have historically fed themselves despite the environment being unsusceptible to agriculture.”

“That’s actually quite interesting,” Neville said sincerely.

“Yes, interesting,” Draco echoed, _in_ sincerely. “Longbottom here was just saying how he didn’t understand why Muggles ever complained about not having enough food, weren’t you, Longbottom.”

Neville turned harshly to him with narrowed eyes. “ _What_? No, I didn’t say that.”

“You needn’t be shy, Longbottom. Remember, you said,” Draco adopted an exaggerated Northern accent, “‘ _I don’ see ‘ow anyone’d complain abou’ not ‘avin’ any food. It don’ seem possible.’_ ”

Neville opened his mouth and closed it several times before fixing Draco with a deathly glare, and silently vowing to slit his throat for sabotaging what could be his only chance to make a good impression with Hannah.

And that sounded _nothing_ like him, thank you _very_ fucking much.

Malfoy ignored Neville’s glare. “There’s no shame in being ignorant, Longbottom. That’s why books exist, after all. And I’m sure... _Helen?_ \--”

“Hannah,” Neville corrected him.

“Right, Hannah. I’m sure she’d be willing to educate you on the topic.”

Neville nearly shat his pants. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Draco trying to _help him_ get with Hannah. Maybe working so closely with drugs had finally addled his brain. “Uh… _yeah_. Yeah, I’d love to hear more about it.”

Hannah looked at Neville shyly and tucked a glossy lock of hair behind her ear. “Really?”

Neville smiled. “Yes, really. Whenever you’ve got time, of course.”

Hannah chuckled throatily. Neville relished the sound. Hannah didn’t have the type of beauty that overtly flirted. She didn’t have large breasts or sultry curves or bedroom eyes. But her laugh was warm and full of light. Her very manner held a natural magnetism. And the easy confidence with which she carried herself was _damn_ sexy. He’d never encountered its like in a young woman of Hannah’s age.

“How about tonight?” she asked, as if there was nothing more natural than a girl asking a guy out.

“Drinks. With me. Three Broomsticks?” It was the best Neville could do.

Hannah bit her lip. “Nine o’clock? Meet at the front entrance?”

“He’ll be there,” Draco said.

“Great,” Hannah grinned widely at Neville. “See you later, then.”

Neville nodded and tried to speak but found he couldn’t summon the right words. Long after Hannah had left, he remained gobsmacked. Eventually, he shook himself and turned on Draco. “You…how… _why_ …?”

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”

Neville shook his head. “Why would you help me?”

Draco scoffed. “I wasn’t helping you. I was helping _me_. You need to get laid, Longbottom. You’re stressing me out, _and_ you’re stressing the plants out.”

“I am _not_ stressing the plants—”

“Yes, you are. They told me.”

“They did _not_ —”

“How long’s it been?”

Neville shut his mouth and turned a brilliant shade of red. “None of your business, Malfoy.”

As understanding descended upon Draco at Neville’s evasive answer, a long, luxurious smirk crept up his face.

Neville cringed at the sight. “Don’t. Just…don’t.”

Draco guffawed. “So, you’re a virgin. _Wow_ , Longbottom. That’s the saddest thing I’ve laughed at in a long time.”

“Shut it, arsehole,” Neville retorted.

“No. Shan’t,” Draco said, inspecting his fingernails. “All the more reason to help you get laid. And the plants agree with me on this.”

“They don’t _talk_ to—”

“Don’t be jealous, Longbottom. You wouldn’t be able to hear them over the sound of your rusty, old maidenhead.”

Neville gave Draco his most impressive glare. It wasn’t much, but it got the point across. “I don’t have a maidenhead, you twat. Despite the rumors you circulated fifth year, I _do_ have a cock.” _Even if so far it’s proven to be only good for a whiz and a wank_ , he did not add.

Draco smirked, drawing the moment out. “I do apologize. It’s just there’s just not an adequate word that encapsulates what you _do_ have, Longbottom. Hmmm. Let’s see.” He tapped his quill on the desk, pretending to think, obstinately ignoring Neville’s death glares. “Stubbornly unpopped cherry? Hilariously oppressive state of non-sex-having? Maybe ‘ _man_ denhead’ would be more appropriate."

Neville glared, unimpressed. "You're a goddamned prick, Malfoy."

"What about  _g_ _uy_ men?” Draco asked, unconcerned with Neville's growing wrath.

“You’re supposed to be _nice_ to me, remember?”

Draco scoffed. “Longbottom, for me, this _is_ nice. Look at what I just did for you. Do you, or do you not, have a date with Anna Babbott tonight?”

“ _Hannah Abbott_ , you twat.”

“ _Whatever_. And you’re _welcome_ , by the way.”

“I didn’t say ‘thank you.’”

Draco scowled. “Exactly. Rude.” His face relaxed into a smile as Hermione walked over to their table.

She looked confused. “…Hi.” She sat in the seat next to Draco, looking back and forth between her fiancé and Neville.

“Hello,” Draco said, pulling her chair closer to him and kissing her on the temple.

Hermione looked back and forth between Draco and Neville. “You two are...studying together?”

“Yes,” Draco said.

She looked like she still didn’t believe him. “You two... _talk_?”

Draco nodded. “Yes.”

She bit her lip and leaned back in her seat. “This is weird.”

Neville shook his head. “Malfoy and I talk all the time now that we’re—”

“Now that I’m helping him on a project in Herbology,” Draco interrupted.

Pushing aside his annoyance with the insinuation that he’d _ever_ need help in Herbology, Neville noted with interest that Draco didn’t seem too keen on Hermione knowing about their illegal enterprise. He’d assumed there would be no secrets between the Malfoy heir and the Gryffindor princess.

Hermione eyed Draco with pointed disbelief. “Really?”

Draco smirked. “Really.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “ _You_?”

Draco chuckled. “I’ll have you know, that I’m _excellent_ with plants. Perhaps not as good as Farmer John, over here, but my thumb is sufficiently green.”

Neville quirked an eyebrow. Did Draco just _compliment_ him? Granted, if he called him ‘Farmer John’ when the two of them were alone, he’d dock him in his ferret face, but _still_. Draco complimented him. That had to be a first.

“You’ve never shown any interest,” Hermione said.

“That’s because _you_ never need help with anything,” Draco said, dipping his head and stealing a kiss from her.

Neville rolled his eyes, making a mental note to keep all displays of affection private should he ever be lucky enough to land Hannah as his girlfriend.

“How are you this year, Neville? You never seem to be around much anymore,” asked Hermione.

Neville shrugged. “I’m around. I’ve been spending a lot of time on this project for Herbology. What about you?”

Hermione sighed. “Between wedding planning and Head Girl duties, I’m perpetually knackered.” She leaned in and lowered her head a bit. “Just between us, I deserve _another_ Order of Merlin, First Class for putting up with MacMillan.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “He’s not my favorite person either.”

Hermione scowled. “He’s so arrogant. He thinks just because his family’s rich he’s better than everyone.”

Neville flatly intoned, staring at Draco the entire time, “Yeah. Sounds like an awful person to spend your time with.”

Draco returned the stare. “Don’t you have a date to get ready for, Longbottom? You’d better get going if you want to have enough time to shave your back.”

Hermione lightly smacked him on the chest. “ _You_ be nice.” She turned to Neville and grinned brightly. “And Neville, you have a _date_? Who’s the girl?”

“Hannah Abbott,” Neville said, blushing.

Hermione did that girl thing where her face softened like she was about to say “ _Awwwww_.” Neville was exceedingly grateful she did not. “She and I had prefect duties together during fifth and sixth year. She’s _perfect_ for you. I think the two of you will really get on.”

“Yeah. I think so too,” Neville said. “I’m a bit nervous I’m going to mess it up somehow, to be honest.”

“Rubbish,” Draco said. “What kind of girl wouldn’t want an 18-year-old virgin who dotes disgracefully on his pet toad?”

Neville blushed deeply. “Malfoy!”

“Draco,” Hermione admonished.

“What? I didn’t realize that was privileged information,” Draco said smirking in a very non-repentant fashion.

Neville rolled his eyes. “You know what? I don’t even care. You helped me get this date, so I’ll let that one slide.”

Hermione turned to her fiancé. “You helped Neville get a date with Hannah?”

Draco preened and put an arm around her. “Impressed?”

“Begrudgingly,” she said, leaning into his arm but narrowing her eyes at him. “You could still be nicer to my friends. It’s no wonder they don’t like you.”

“What about you?” Draco rubbed circles on her shoulder. “Do you like me?”

Hermione bit her lip in an attempt to hold back a smile. She held up a hand and brought her thumb and her index finger close together, her expression taking a coy turn. “Perhaps a _little_ ,” she said.

Draco leaned in and placed a sweet kiss on her neck. “ _Only_ a little?”

Hermione giggled. “ _Draco_. Not in front of Neville. You’re being rude.”

Neville rose out of his seat, anxious to leave before his breakfast revisited him. “No, I should really get going. Please don’t stop on my account.”

“I never do, Longbottom,” Draco said, continuing his ministrations to Hermione’s neck.

“Don’t remind me,” Neville mumbled.

______________________________

 

At 9:00 p.m. on the dot, Neville stood waiting at the front entrance wearing his nicest V-neck sweater and his anxiety on his sleeve. He was so nervous he jumped at the feel of a light tap on his shoulder.

Hannah grinned warmly at him. “Ready to go?”

He took a moment to look at her. She donned a pair of light wash Muggle denims, ankle boots, and a black jumper that perfectly showed off her elegant collarbone. She wore no makeup. He liked that.

He liked all of it.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he said, smiling stupidly.

______________________________

 

The moment they settled into a booth at the Three Broomsticks, Neville’s nerves melted away. He’d never met a girl so easy to talk to as Hannah Abbott. She was passionate, intelligent, and kind—all traits he’d admired in Hermione. But she was also laid back and beautiful in a nonconventional, almost statuesque way. Despite her looks, even a bloke who fancied her couldn’t help but feel relaxed by her.

“What do you want to do once you leave Hogwarts?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve always been really good at Herbology, and I enjoy it. So, I think I’d like to work with magical plants.”

“You always were Professor Sprout’s pet,” she said with easy flirtation.

Neville pushed down his slight revulsion at being referred to as Professor Sprout’s _anything_. “Have I?”

Hannah nodded. “Remember, the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs always had Herbology together. But you probably didn’t notice me because you were always ‘in the zone.’”

Neville’s face lit up in a brilliant smile. “You were watching me?”

Hannah bit her lip. “I always thought you were cute.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “ _Always_? As in…before this year?”

Hannah chuckled. “Since about fourth year. Is that a problem?”

Neville beamed. “Not at all. It’s just…” he gulped, “most girls didn’t notice me at all before this year.”

Hannah shrugged. “Fuck ‘um. Their loss is my gain.”

Neville laughed at her unexpectedly coarse language. “So, um…what do you want to do after Hogwarts.”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that I want to do something that touches people’s lives. I know that’s...vague. And corny.”

“Not at all.” Neville gaped dreamily at his date. His head was supported by his hand propped up on his elbow. His jaw was agape. He was the personification of besotted. All that’s missing were heart-shaped pupils.

Madam Rosmerta approached their table, bearing two mugs of butterbeer. “Here you go, luvs. This one’s on the house.” She smiled at them both and walked away with a knowing glint in her eye, delighted that two of her favorite Hogwarts students seemed to be getting closer to one another.

“I always liked her,” Hannah said. “ _She_ touches people’s day-to-day lives with what she does, you know. She probably doesn’t even realize it, but it makes a difference.”

Neville smiled dreamily at Hannah. “She fights hunger and thirst on the home front.”

“Exactly,” Hannah laughed. “My Muggle Studies project really got me thinking about after graduation. There’s this coalition of witches and wizards that work with Muggle governments all over the world to address world hunger that Professor Byatt thinks I should consider. It sounds interesting, but I don’t know if it’s for me. I think I’d miss the small things too much.”

“The small things?” Neville asked, genuinely interested.

“Yeah, just…the little moments between people that add up to something big. Like Rosmerta bringing us butterbeer because she likes that we’re on a date.”

Neville’s heart skipped at hearing her admit that this was a date. “Or,” she continued, “your friend, Malfoy, embarrassing you earlier because he knew you wouldn’t ask me out on your own.”

Neville blushed intensely. “You picked up on that, did you?”

She smiled. “I’m perceptive. People are fascinating to me. And with something like the coalition, it would be just too...intense. All big picture, all the time. Life or death. I’m not a Gryffindor. I might have the compassion for the cause, but I’m not sure I have the temperament.”

Neville was utterly blown away by this girl. He’d never met anyone so self-aware. He could sit here all night and listen to her talk, creating with her those small moments she loved so much. “I can’t believe I never met you before now,” Neville said, meaning it with all his heart. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve met at Hogwarts.”

Hannah raised her eyebrows. “That’s quite a statement from someone who hangs out with the Golden Trio and Luna Lovegood.”

He laughed. “I know it sounds like a line, but I’m serious. How have I not met you?”

She shrugged. “Don’t ask me. You’re the Gryffindor,” she teased.

Neville shook his head. “I was shy. I’m still shy, truth be told.”

“It’s endearing. Even if we do have Draco Malfoy to thank for the fact that we’re out together,” she said playfully. He sighed and held his head in his hands.

“I _hate_ that I owe him one.”

“It’s funny that you two are friends.”

“We’re not,” Neville said quickly.

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure? It wouldn’t be unheard of. After all, he is engaged to Hermione Granger. But I suppose in the wizarding world, stranger things have happened.”

Neville considered this for a moment. _Stranger things have happened_. Story of his damned life. There were many times over the course of the years that he wondered how different things could be for him if he was more like Harry Potter—brave, gregarious, confident. He spent most of his childhood feeling like a joke—the ‘Little Gryffindor Who Couldn’t.’

That just wasn’t who he was anymore. Maybe it never was.

Going for broke, Neville leaned in and captured her lips in a brief, but sweet, kiss. She tasted like butterbeer and girl. The little squeal of surprise she made went straight to his heart.

It was the first time he’d ever kissed a girl he liked, and he knew that of all the kisses he’d had, this was the only one he’d take to his grave. It felt momentous; like something he would look back on with fondness when he was old and gray.

Hannah’s hazel eyes sparkled in the moments that followed the kiss, the air between them shifting. “I didn’t think you’d do that.”

Neville smiled. “Stranger things have happened, right?”


	4. Neville, the Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SaintDionysus, my awesome beta, is to thank for the idea of calling MacMillan, "Dick-Millan." She and I are eight years old and we make no apologies for our collective sense of humor.

Okay.

Fine.

Neville could admit it. Draco Malfoy was a bloody good partner.

Neville could only assume that years of cock strutting about the castle and bullying the general population had prepared Draco for the drug management business. He oddly understood people better than Neville ever would, which was truly hilarious when Neville thought about it; the fact that Draco Malfoy was, in essence, a people person.

He knew their tells, their ticks, their weaknesses just by spending a few moments in their presence. He understood what made someone a leader or a follower. There were certain characteristics which predestined individuals to be excellent in one of those two roles.

Draco, for example, was a leader.

He was so darkly charismatic; even Neville had to fight his instincts, screaming at him to blindly listen to whatever he had to say.

He was intelligent. Neville was surprised, and admittedly a little jealous, at how quickly Draco picked up on the technicalities of marijuana growing.

He always seemed to be several steps ahead. Before the product had even been fully broken down, he managed to erect a permanent barrier between the product and the layer of wormwood with which he lined the greenhouse. In doing so, he killed two birds with one stone—protecting the plants from the substance’s toxicity, and keeping away pests.

Most of all, he could identify other people’s motivations, and he had no qualms about manipulating them in a way that served his own. Neville suspected this gift was woven into Draco’s DNA. He carried it so naturally, it seemed inseparable from his very essence.

As a leader, Draco spotted follower potential like a hawk spotted injured bunnies.

Evan Atkinson, a fourth-year Slytherin whose hero-worship of Draco was disturbingly reminiscent of the late Colin Creevy’s man-crush on Harry Potter, was one of these (depending on how you saw it) ‘lucky’ bunnies. Though he was not alarmingly bright, he was smart enough to follow instructions. His fear/awe of Draco ensured his loyalty. Draco treated him like a potential protégé, dangling before him the tantalizing fantasy of Evan being taken under his wing, but keeping him at enough of a distance where he still had something to strive for. Evan would have opened his veins for a kind word from Draco.

Lawrence Baker was another bunny. He, however, was cleverer than Atkinson. His perfection for the task lay in the totality of his apathy. A Muggleborn Ravenclaw in his fifth year, he was one of those ‘lazy but brilliant’ students who might have had perfect grades if they could only be arsed to study. As it was, he was fifth in his year without ever cracking a book. He gave the appearance of being constantly about to fall asleep. He was tall and surly enough that male customers wouldn’t start shit with him. Female customers were ever-so-slightly sexually intrigued by him despite the fact that he was the scrawniest fucker Draco had ever seen. He seemed to subsist on a cocktail of Adderall, black coffee, raw vegetables, and The Ganj. He was too lazy to steal from them, but just for good measure, Draco threw in a modest gratis with his commission.

Janet Mantel was the last of their merry band of miscreants. A sixth-year Gryffindor lesbian with a shaved head and a neck tattoo of a shark wearing high heels, she was the most reliable of the three. Her talent for followership lay in the fact that she was pretty much otherwise unemployable despite the fact that she was relatively intelligent and possessed decent social skills. Though it was unsettling to some, she refused to change her appearance for any person (bloody Gryffindor principles). Her tattoo, which she got on a dare, she loved because it never failed to make her and her friends laugh. She kept her head shaved because she had no desire to maintain hair. Her ears she gauged because— _shut the fuck up_. When Draco offered her a job, she was in no position to turn it down. He was not disappointed. She was personable in a bizarre way, she knew how to count, and her Gryffindor morality prevented her from trying to cheat her employer.

So, drug dealers they became, under Malfoy’s management. The snake had six rules for his little bunnies.

First rule: Don’t ask questions above your pay grade; namely, anything regarding the business above the point of their involvement, _i.e._ where the pot comes from, whether there are others at the top besides Draco, that sort of thing.

Second rule: No weed on credit. The customer gets the product when the Galleons change hands.

Third rule: 5% commission on all sales. This kept them in healthy competition with one another.

Fourth rule: Despite rule number 3, there are to be no whispers of ‘turfs’ or ownership regarding customer bases, or anything that involved unhealthy competition between the three.

Fifth rule: Don’t solicit. Word will pass and drugs sell themselves. This kept them from making the mistake of misjudging a situation and trying to sell to a fink.

And sixth, and most importantly: Don’t ever, ever, goddamned EVER reveal Draco’s identity. As they did not know Neville was involved at all, his anonymity was pre-guaranteed. However, for Draco’s part, he had them sign a magical contract to ensure their secrecy. He also informed them that if they broke said contract, they would fall victim to a hex, the effects of which were both permanent and ugly—an idea he stole from the fifth-year antics of his brilliant and equally terrifying wife-to-be.

Draco managed his employees firmly, but fairly. He was not a tyrant, nor was he their friend. Neville despised himself a little for respecting him.

And the effects were undeniable. One thing was for sure. Business was _booming_. Neville couldn’t believe how quickly they moved the product. Hufflepuffs especially seemed to plow through the stuff. And best of all, because the drug was developed from a magical, dual-purpose strain, they were able to sell it for far more than if it had been regular, run-of-the mill marijuana.

Mua-ha-fucking-ha.

_____________________

 

Neville and Draco leaned against the wall in the first-floor corridor, watching the students scamper through the hall.

“You see that one there?” Draco asked, pointing to a dumpy, freckled fourth year Hufflepuff, his robes a-bulge with sweets. “He might look like a grass, but he and his mates are some of our biggest customers.”

Neville grinned. “I can’t imagine they go through more than Dean and Seamus. It’s all they bloody talk about these days—the ‘Magic Mary Jane.’ I don’t remember the last time I saw them when they _weren’t_ high.”

Draco snickered, delighted to hear that they were taking so much of those two toe-rags’ money. “I wondered why Finnegan seemed impossibly stupider lately.” Draco’s amused expression fell as Ernie MacMillan sauntered through the corridor, parting the sea of the lowly peasant students who _didn’t_ possess a comically shiny Head Boy badge. Draco nudged his chin in MacMillan’s direction. “We’ll need to watch out. Head-Giving Boy there harped for an _hour_ at the prefect meeting the other night about ridding the school of drugs. He’s trying to jump-start a drug-free campaign using the prefects to create an ‘if you see something, say something’ incentive with some of the younger students.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “How’d that go over with the prefects?”

“Like a sack of shit hitting the pavement.”

Neville chuckled. “Glad to hear it. How’s Hermione dealing with it?”

Draco sighed. “She’s exhausted, I think. She made the point at the meeting that the only drug any of them have actually ever confiscated has been marijuana, and MacMillan nearly had a conniption.” A shadow fell across Draco’s handsome features. “He fucking _yelled_ at her in front of everyone and told her that if she thought marijuana wasn’t _just_ _as dangerous_ as hard drugs, then she had no right to call herself Head Girl.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “He did _what_?”

“I lost it,” Draco said, recalling the fury coursing through his veins at seeing MacMillan raise his greasy voice at the woman Draco loved. Even the memory of it triggered a montage of fantasies involving the Head Boy squealing in agony as Draco ripped him limb from limb. “I would have beaten him to a pulp if Hermione hadn’t thrown a silent _Petrificus_ at me.”

Neville laughed. “I would have loved to have seen that.”

Draco’s lips disappeared into a thin line. He had been _most_ displeased with her for doing that. “She didn’t even cast a _Finite_ until the meeting was over.” Despite his displeasure with her, he couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of the argument that followed in the prefect meeting room after everyone had left.

 

_“Why the **fuck** would you hex me?” _

_“Because I’m not about to let you get yourself expelled!”_

_Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, and I suppose you **had to wait** until the end of the meeting to drop the spell.” _

_S_ _he smirked (a habit which she picked up from him). He summoned the will to not break the flawless fury in his countenance as he felt his pants tighten at the expression she now wore like a pro._

_Hermione edged mere inches from his face and silkily whispered, “Consider it payback then. If I recall, you blind sighted me with that same spell once-upon-a-time.”_

_Draco’s jaw clenched at the memory of the night he almost lost her back in sixth year. “That was different. **That** was for your protection. You did this for what? To protect **Dick-Millan**?"_

_Hermione tilted her head haughtily. He tried and failed to suppress the swelling of his pride (and his cock) at the realization that she would make one **hell** of a Malfoy. “I did it for **me** , you arse. I’m the one who has to work with the git.” Her gaze softened, and her eyes sparkled with manipulation. “And I did it for you, too. The last thing I want is for you to get expelled. Then who would take me behind the greenhouse?” _

**_Ooooohhhh. That little minx._ **

_S_ _he edged ever closer. “And on my bed?” Her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. “And in that alcove on the third floor.” She nuzzled his nose with her own. “And the Restricted Section of the library where I sucked you off for the first time.”_

_All of Draco’s decision-making powers pulsed angrily just south of his navel. His mind was a goddamned mess._

**_Must…fuck her. She wins argument…we fuck sooner._ **

_By some miracle, the hefty corner of his brain where he stored his arrogance kept **just enough** blood from journeying to his cock for him to hold out on letting her win the argument. This part of the brain also knew she’d make it **ever** so worth his while if he could just hold out a little bit longer. If he played his cards right, he’d win the argument, she’d be riled up to the point of bursting, and then… _

_He’d fuck her prissy cunt till she forgot how to walk._

_The lust cloud over his eyes cleared. He smirked. “You think just because I want to bend you over this desk right now, you can walk all over me?” He relished in the confused expression on her face as he lowered his lips to her ear and whispered, “I want an apology.”_

_She glared at her Slytherin and smiled humorlessly. “Too fucking bad. I’m not apologizing.”_

_Draco’s pupils exploded. “You don’t want to push me right now, Hermione. I’m fucking **furious** with you.” _

_She snarled. “ **Get over it**.” _

_The two of them breathed heavily, panting in each other’s faces, their hands balled up into fists at their sides, their nails piercing their flesh to cause just enough pain to take the edge off. Draco licked his bottom lip as he watched Hermione bite her own._

 

They had made a mess of that room.

Draco pulled a hamstring and Hermione sprained a wrist. And that night—oh, that night—when they retired to her dorm…

Had Hermione Granger not been the best person Draco had ever met, he would have thought she had all the makings of the most ruthless of Death Eaters, because that woman had a _sweet_ talent for torture. Draco couldn’t help but close his eyes and let his head fall on the stone wall as he reminisced about the exquisite sleep deprivation torture tactics Hermione bestowed upon him the evening of the argument—torture in the form of a mind-blowing series of blow jobs. He’d fall asleep, his brain fuzzy in post-coital bliss, and just as he’d slip into his REM cycle, her mouth would be on him again.

 _Fuck_ , but she did have a dirty mouth.

“Malfoy? Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Draco asked, rousing himself from his lusty fantasy. “What did you say?”

“I asked if Hermione knows about our business.”

Draco sighed. “No. And before you say anything, she doesn’t need to know. As Head Girl, she’d feel conflicted, and she’d probably have no other choice but to turn us both in.”

Neville scoffed. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh, _yes_ , she would. I mean, she’d _hate_ herself for it, but you better believe she’d do it. She’s worked too hard to get Head Girl, and it means the world to her. I’m not about to put her in a position where she feels she has to make the choice between throwing it away or getting her fiancé expelled.”

“You don’t think she’ll figure it out? She _is_ smarter than both of us.”

Draco shrugged. “Of course, she’ll figure it out. I just hope it’s _after_ we’ve moved all the product. I’ll deal with the aftermath later.” He smirked, imagining how spectacular _that_ bout of angry sex would be.

“Whatever,” Neville said. He’d been saying that a lot lately. Dating Hannah and hanging around Malfoy had significantly affected his demeanor and overall approach to life. Though he didn’t actually smoke his own product, he’d adopted the calm bearing of a pothead. “Hannah doesn’t know either.”

“Then we agree, Longbottom. Best to keep significant others out of it.”

The corners of Neville’s lips quirked up at hearing Draco refer to Hannah as a ‘significant other.’ It had been over a month since their first date in Hogsmeade, and since that time he spent every spare moment with her. They still hadn’t done _It_ yet, but they had done other things…other wonderful things…that left Neville with little doubt about his feelings for her. He was falling so hard for her that even if he came out the other end of this year 100,000 Galleons richer, there’s no way he’d do so with his heart intact. Every moment with her revealed a thousand little things to love about her.

The eye freckle that was the first thing he saw every time he opened his eyes after kissing her.

The sweet sighs she’d release when he nibbled on the spot just beneath her ear.

The way her nose crinkled when she laughed.

Her maturity.

Her innocence.

In an odd mixture of the latter two attributes, Hannah didn’t use drugs at all. Along with everything else about her, Neville loved this too. A girl this perfect didn’t need anything to change her…not even for a minute.

She was also one of the few girls in the school who wouldn’t be impressed that Neville was a drug dealer. There was no reason for her to know, especially since she might not want anything to do with him.

He sighed. For the love of Nimue, he had it bad.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Neville. “I know that look.”

“What look?” Neville asked with poorly feigned innocence.

“You’re thinking about Henna.”

“ _Hannah_ , for the _thousandth time_ , you sodding waste of oxygen!”

Draco smirked. “You’re in love.”

Neville blushed and averted his gaze. “We’re still new.”

“I know what I’m seeing. The cow eyes, the blushing, the idiotic smile—”

“Well, you can fuck _right_ off.”

“—I recognize all the signs because I’ve been there too, mate.”

Neville went cross-eyed at the sound of Draco Malfoy calling him “mate.” Had he heard that correctly? Draco didn’t seem to realize he’d said anything out of the ordinary. “So, believe it or not, I’m not going to make fun of you for it. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me, that’s for damn sure.”

Neville pinched himself to check that this wasn’t some bizarre dream—that Draco Malfoy was actually talking to him about girls and love and stuff. All that was missing from this moment was a tub of Florean Fortescue butterbeer swirl ice cream, a bottle of rosé, and they’d be ready to discuss Draco’s favorite hair products.

“ _Draco_ ,” an overly-eager voice bellowed.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fucking Atkinson,” he murmured under his breath, pushing off from the wall and expelling a long spurt of air from his lungs. “Evan,” he said, assuming his inexplicably imperious-yet-charming manner. “Got anything for me today?”

He backed away from Neville just enough to keep the appearance that he wasn’t involved. Evan looked around the room before speaking in a hopelessly exaggerated display of carefulness. “I ‘eard from some of my Hufflepuff customers ‘at MacMillan’s gotta list ‘o names.”

_Shit-eating kneazle-fucker!_

Draco’s demeanor remained ever-cool. “Names of what, exactly?” It disgusted him how much he reminded himself of his father right now—the slippery inflections of speech, the impregnable freeze of expression. But Merlin, if it didn’t get results.

“People he finks might ‘ave somefin’ ‘a do wiff the drugs.” Evan smirked (Draco assumed in an attempt to emulate him), “But ‘e don’ ‘ave no clue it’s you. Your name ain’t on ‘at list.”

Draco offered a rare smile. He projected it would be enough to tide Evan over for a week or more. “Now Evan, I need you to tell me _exactly_ who is on that list. Can you remember?”

Evan nodded eagerly. “Well, ‘ere’s ‘at Neville Longbo’om,” the younger boy snorted. “As if ‘e’d ‘ave the brains for somefin’ like this.”

Draco’s face betrayed not a wrinkle. “Who else, Evan?”

“Right, ‘ere’s also Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, and…” Evan bit his lip.

A single nerve in Draco’s eyebrow twitched. “You don’t want to tell me.”

Evan shook his head.

Draco put a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “If you think I’ll be upset, I assure you, it will not be at you. Now,” he offered the boy another rare smile. “Tell me.”

Evan gulped. “It’s…” he sighed. “It’s your girl, boss. ‘ermione Granger.”

Draco reflexively tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder. _This_ was fucking news.

It must have been the fact that she dared stand against MacMillan at the prefect meeting. The prick must have conflated her cool pragmatism with enthusiasm for light drugs.

He glowered with righteous fury. He’d be damned if Hermione was implicated in this.

“Um…boss?”

Draco realized he was still grasping Evan’s shoulder. He released him. “Thank you for telling me, Evan. You’ve done very well bringing this to my attention.” It was pitiful how happy it made the boy to hear that. “But I need you to do something else for me.”

“Anyfin’, boss.”

“I need you to watch MacMillan. Continue keeping your ear to the ground with your customers, especially the Hufflepuffs, but I want you to _specifically_ watch MacMillan. Report back to me his comings and goings—who he sees, who he talks to, what he eats for goddamned breakfast. Alright?”

The boy swiftly agreed and left Draco with his thoughts. He felt a nudge on his shoulder.

It was Neville. “Everything alright?” Draco nodded, summoning his talent for compartmentalization and shrugging off his displeasure with Evan’s news to deal with at a later time. “Of course. Business as usual.” No need to bother Neville with this just yet. The bloke had the finesse of a two-legged Erumpet. He’d be sure to panic and cock everything up. No. Draco could control this. It wasn’t bad _yet_.

But Hermione…

Neville spoke. “I meant to ask you; you know Whimsy’s been talking to Winky and some of the other kitchen elves, right?”

Draco nodded. “She’s trying to convince them to do edibles.” He chuckled slightly. “It’s the perfect plan if you think about it. They won’t take payment, they know how to bloody bake, and they’d rather throw themselves in front of the Hogwarts Express than betray the loyalty of a witch or wizard they’ve sworn to serve. Whimsy’s acting as a sort of official representative of our interests. She knows how to gain their trust.”

Neville snickered. “It’s moments like this where Hermione’s special touch with house elves would come in handy.”

Draco scoffed. “I think not. Advocate for their rights or not, they despise her. Lesson one in house elf husbandry is: Don’t try to sneak them clothes.” His eyes darted warily to the other boy. “You’re not still in a strop about using house elves are you? Because we don’t _have_ to do edibles.”

Neville shrugged. “Whatever. It’s alright by me.”

Draco’s eye twitched as MacMillan sauntered into the Great Hall, lightly reprimanding a second year for donning an improperly tucked Oxford. Hatred boiled within him. He didn’t give a toss what that prick tried to do to him. People like Dick-Millan would only go so far in life, anyway. No matter what happened while he was at Hogwarts, Draco would never lose sleep looking over his shoulder for the likes of Ernie MacMillan. But if the cunt-waffle thought he could try to harm Hermione, in any way, and get away with it…well.

Let’s just say MacMillan would need to look over his shoulder for Draco Malfoy for the rest of his life. Deep in his bones, he was still Lucius Malfoy’s son.

He needed to calm down. Thinking about Head-Giving Boy was giving him heart palpitations.

“Come on, Longbottom.”

“Where are we going?” Neville asked, following the blond.

Draco smirked. “Let’s call it a working lunch.”

____________________________

 

“Well?” Neville asked.

Draco exhaled slowly. His head felt heavier than usual. A pesky corner of his brain seemed to have asked a question, probing him before allowing the marijuana access to his faculties. His answer?

Duuuuuuude.

He took another puff.

Neville examined him with apprehension. “I’ve never actually seen anyone high on this stuff before, Malfoy. Some drug dealer, I am that I can’t even recommend my own product.”

Draco’s exhale got lost in full-body laughter seeping out of every pore on his body. He laughed for what seemed like ages. Everything was laughter. Laughing was life now. Made to laugh.

“Malfoy?”

Draco took what seemed like hours to compose himself. In reality, it had only been a few moments. He wiped his eyes of laughter. “You kill me, Longbottom.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like,” Draco smacked his lips together a few times. “I feel…” His expression stilled.

Neville had never seen anyone go so long without blinking. “Malfoy?”

“Huh?”

“I asked how you…never mind.”

Draco handed Neville the joint. “You grew this.”

Neville nodded, accepting the joint. “I did,” he said, drawing a deep toke.

Draco looked around the greenhouse at the perfectly packaged bundles of marijuana. “And I…I built a business.”

Neville exhaled. “We both have our moments, Malfoy.”

“No, but you don’t get it. I’ve never made _anything_ before. No one in my family has.”

Neville considered this. “No one in your family has ever married a Muggleborn either.”

Draco smiled so widely and so stupidly Neville had the sudden urge to take pictures. No one would ever believe him otherwise. “That was the first time thinking with my cock ever went well for me.”

Neville sniggered in spite of the crude turn the conversation had taken. “How did it happen?”

Draco slurred, “Well first she put It in her mouth and then we—”

“Not _really_ what I meant, Malfoy. I know how… _that_ stuff works.”

“Pssshh. Do you? Have you put it in Babba Annett yet?”

“ _Hannah Abbott_. And no, for your informati-vation…” Neville shook himself. That wasn’t the right word. But what was the right word? This was hard. “Infor…informs…informate.”

Draco was doubling over laughing once more, clutching his side.

“Informating…inflammation…sorry to inflame you, Malfoy, but Hannah and I are taking it slow.”

“I’m happy for you, Longbottom. Even freaks like you need someone to snuggle their bits.”

“You make _no_ sense, Malfoy.”

“I’m high.”

“I know.”

The two boys sat in amicable silence, smoking for some time.

Draco broke first. “To answer your question, we argued.”

Neville turned his head slowly (but _very_ slowly) to face Draco. “Huh?”

“Hermione and I getting together? We argued. In the library. She was right, probably. I can’t remember. I was too busy staring at her bra through her jumper.” He clutched his side, shaking in laughter. “Then we just started _snogging_.”

Neville laughed. “That _would_ be how you two got together.”

“I’m high.”

“I know. You know, I never thought of Hermione as being the type of girl to fall for a bad boy.”

“Psshh. She wasn’t, really. I was an arse in the beginning but I snapped out of it for the most part.”

Neville snorted.

“I said for the _most_ part.”

“So _that_ was when Hermione fell for you?”

“Not until long after I fell for her. In fact, she freely admits that in the beginning I was just stress relief for her. Some people jog, some smoke out. Hermione used dick. _My_ dick, to be exact.”

“Sounds awful.”

“I live to serve.”

“When did you know you loved her?”

Draco knocked his head back on the greenhouse wall. He sat in silence for about five minutes before speaking. “I think it was when I called her a ‘Mudblood’ and broke up with her.”

Neville’s eyes narrowed. “Romance for the ages, you two are.”

Draco laughed. A _lot_. “No. No, Longbottom.” He took a moment to compose himself. “We’d been sneaking around and doing it for a while, and I asked her on a date. She didn’t show because I ax-identally poisoned Weasel. So I got mad at her and broke up with her.”

Neville shook his head. “You _honestly_ don’t see what’s wrong with that?”

“What part?”

“ _Any_ of it.”

Draco waved it off. “You don’t get it.” He sighed. “I thought she just wanted me for my cock. She broke my heart. So, I broke hers.”

Neville let silence sit in before speaking. “Again…that’s _shit_.”

“Quiet, Longbottom. The adults are talking. So _anyway_ , I saw that I had hurt her and I hated myself for it.”

Neville raised an eyebrow. “ _You_ hated yourself?”

Draco nodded. “For the first time in my life, yes. I wanted her to be happy more than I cared about myself. That’s when I knew I loved her.”

“Fuck,” Neville took a puff of the almost cashed joint. “You’re a fucking sap, Malfoy.”

“Tell anyone, and I’ll castrate that bloody great frog you’re always toting under your arm.”

“So you had lots of secret sex with Hermione, and now you’re marrying her.”

“Yyyup,” Draco declared proudly.

“I still can’t wrap my head around _you_ marrying _Hermione_.”

“Would _you_ be able to have sex with Hermione Granger and _not_ ask her to marry you?”

“Well, I’ve got a—”

“ _Before_ you started making googly eyes at Hella Habit.”

“Good point.” Neville shook his head. This had been the most illuminating conversation he’d ever had with Draco, and he wondered if he could take advantage of the blond’s demolition of emotional barriers to ask something that had been needling at him. “Why are you doing this, Malfoy? Why, really?”

Draco sighed. “You know the only reason I came back to Hogwarts this year was to be with Hermione. I’m not interested in Ancient Runes or Arithmancy or any of that other shit you need to get a lizard in so you can work at the Ministry and die chained to your desk. But _this_ …business…” He shrugged. “I like this stuff. And I’m a damn sight better at it than I am Ancient Runes.”

“You are really good at it,” Neville said.

“Thanks, mate. And you’re good at growing weeds.”

Neville chuckled. “Thanks, mate.”

There is was; a mutual acknowledgment that the two of them were, in fact, friends. Neville thought it would feel more momentous to accept Draco Malfoy as his friend, but honestly, it didn’t change anything. Claiming friendship is not the same as living it, and Draco had been Neville’s friend for longer than today. He wasn’t really sure when it happened. Perhaps it was that day in the library when Draco set him up with Hannah and then mercilessly ripped on him for being a virgin. Since that day Draco and Neville had fallen into a comfortable partnership; Neville as the mad scientist and Draco as the evil genius.

It worked.

What’s that Harry once said about becoming friends with Hermione? _There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other_.

Marijuana was Neville and Draco’s escaped mountain troll.

After several more moments of comfortable silence, Draco spoke up. “So, do you think you love Helena Rabbit?” He lit up another joint and inhaled deeply.

Neville chuckled. “I’m definitely falling for her. But I’ve never been in love before. Not really. I mean, you know I pined after Hermione for years.”

Draco nodded, handing the joint to Neville. “ _Everyone_ knew about that. You’ve a tendency to wear your Gryffindor on your sleeve. It’s why you’re such a shite businessman.”

Neville chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose so. Anyway, that was just puppy love. It wasn’t like what the two of you have. And what’s happening with Hannah…” He sighed. “It feels different.”

“You feel like there can’t possibly be anything bigger in the world than what’s happening between you two.”

Neville nodded. “Yeah.”

“And you’re terrified because there’s no _way_ you’re supposed to be this happy forever. But you don’t think your heart could survive it if it ended.”

Neville turned to Draco, a look of surprise in his eyes. “Yes.”

“And you know that, if you could, you’d hunt down and capture every star in the sky if you thought it would make her happy.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “… _Yeah_.”

Draco nodded. “That’s love, mate.”

Neville sighed, rubbing his face with both hands to stimulate circulation. Between the drugs, the heady conversation, and the confirmation that he had likely set himself up for certain annihilation of the heart, he needed to ground himself. “What do I do?”

Draco shrugged. “Try not to fuck it up.”

Neville took the joint from Draco and thumbed the ash on the greenhouse ground. “I’m scared she’ll find out what I do and dump me,” he mumbled before taking the last toke.

Draco nodded, lighting up another joint and taking a puff. “That’s healthy, probably. To fear the woman you love.”

“Are you scared of Hermione, then?”

Draco burst into uncontrollable laughter for the umpteenth time since they had begun their blazed heart-to-heart. “ _Scared_ , Longbottom? She scares the _shit_ out of me. And not just because she could easily hex me out of fucking existence. She…” he released another bark-like laugh. “You know what she did to Rita Skeeter and Marietta Edgecombe, right? That bitch is stone cold. She _Avada_ ’d my Aunt Bellatrix, for fuck’s sake. She would have ruled the dungeons had she listened to that damned hat and let it put her in Slytherin.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “No _fucking_ way. The Sorting Hat tried to put her in _Slytherin_?"

Draco raised a finger to his lips and shushed in an uncharacteristic moment of gracelessness. “Don’t tell anyone. She told me in confident-ness…consedence… _con-seq-uen-cessss_ …” Draco scratched his head in confusion. Were words always this hard?

Neville shook his head. “Hermione killed Bellatrix. You killed Lucius. It might be the _worst_ idea ever for the two of you to procreate.”

Draco smirked. “I can’t wait to make little murder babies with her.”

“Psychopathsayswhat?”

“What?”

Neville chuckled. “Nothing.”

Without warning, Draco exploded into another kidney-busting, non-sequitur burst of laughter. “I was scared to ask her to marry me too. Did you know I had the ring for five months or something before I popped the question? And even then my _mum_ basically had to do it for me.” He rolled over in another fit of uncontrolled, infectious mirth.

Neville couldn’t help but join in. Between gasps for air and released breaths which manifested as laughter, he managed to choke out, “That’s…fucking… _pathetic_ , Malfoy!”

Draco laughed harder in agreement. “If…you tell anyone...that I said that…I’ll clusterfuck your world up, Longbottom.”

Neville tried to catch his breath, but couldn’t contain the laughter pouring out of him. “You’re…all talk, Malfoy.”

Draco wiped his eyes as he felt the bubble of mirth in his stomach begin to dissipate. “ _Whew_. This is some good shit you made, Longbottom.”

“ _We_ did this, Malfoy. We made something.”

“Hey, Longbottom,” Draco said.

“Yeah, Malfoy.”

“I’m high.”

Neville sniggered. “I know, mate. I know.”


	5. Neville, the Fucked, and not in a good way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, folks! I hope you all enjoy my unpunctual offering. I really love this chapter! Basically, house elves are terrifying and Professor Sprout continues to be gross. 
> 
> Things are wrapping up! One more chapter after this.
> 
> Shout out to my lovely beta, SaintDionysus!

The walk back was hard.

Every few steps, Draco would see something that he found hilarious—a phallic-looking weathering in the walls, a suit of armor that he swore looked just like Goyle—and laugh for an extended amount of time. Draco’s laugh was so easy and infectious, that Neville couldn’t resist the call to laugh with him, even if he had no idea what was funny.

“Ohmygod, I’m _starving_. Are you starving?” Draco asked.

“Kitchens,” Neville determinedly declared, pointing them in the right direction.

They arrived in the kitchens with their eyes sparkling maniacally and their enthusiasm for all things edible oozing out of their very natures. Quickly, they became the house elves’ favorite people, having graciously consumed every cake and pie set before their faces. The Hogwarts kitchen staff was never so happy as when a student wandered into their midst smelling of some strange herb, demanding sweets.

“Ohmagawd,” Draco said, tucking into a lemon tart. “This is genius. _You all_ are geniuses,” he said, addressing the house elves. He’d never been much of a fan of lemony things before now. But the tingling zip of the citrus on his tongue combined with the smooth custard and subtle crunch of the crust were coming together in a way that made him wonder why he wasn’t _always_ putting this concoction in his mouth.

“Try it with the chocolate mousse,” Neville said, his eyes rolling in the back of his head with pleasure. “Bloody mental.”

Draco complied and didn’t even bother to stifle the luxurious groan that escaped him. “M _fucking_ gawd, it’s _sho_ good!”

Why wasn’t he always eating sweets again?

“You is being Whimsy’s master?” one house elf asked Draco.

“Mmhmmm,” he said over a mouthful of confections.

“Whimsy is a good elf, we thinks. And we sees that she has a good Master,” the house elf declared gleefully. “A _hungry_ master!”

“You bet your arse. Do you all do weddings? My fiancée’s been trying to find a caterer and someone to bake our wedding cake and it’s been driving her mad.”

Twenty pairs of teary eyes widened happily up at Draco, who might have noticed if he hadn’t been so intent on the banoffee pie he now declared ‘ _genius_.’

“It would be the best honor for us to cook for White-Haired Mister and his bride! Whimsy is surely needing our helps with the wedding!”

“Does we know White-Haired Mister’s Miss?”

Draco chuckled. “Probably. I’m marrying Hermione Granger.”

The collective gasp was frightful enough for both Draco and Neville to still their spoons and gape at the mob of indignant house elves who, until two seconds ago, were practically crying with happiness at the prospect of helping to bake for a wedding.

“Curly-Haired Miss is the one who hides the nasty hats and tries to frees us,” one particularly grouchy house elf said.

“Bossy Miss tells us we is ‘brainwashed.’ Bossy Miss is being insulting!”

Draco wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin before addressing the house elves. “I apologize on her behalf. To be fair, she does this with every house elf she’s ever met.”

“And White-Haired Mister is making her Mistress of his House? Does White-Haired Mister trust Nosey Miss with his house elves?”

“Not remotely. But I’ve already spoken with all of them and told them that any clothes she gives them won’t have any effect.” Draco could feel himself sobering as he gazed upon the disgruntled house elves, feeling very outnumbered.

“Fair Mister is telling his Meany Miss to stops with the ugly hats. We is not needing them.”

Draco nodded rapidly. “Of course, I’ll tell her.”

“White-Haired Mister smells of The Herb,” said a wheezy, crotchety old house elf, narrowing his eyes at Draco. He recalled Smug Mister saying something about people who smelled of The Herb who might come running to the kitchen at odd hours begging for foods, but he’d never known what Smug Mister with the shiny badge spoke of until now.

The other house elves leaned in covertly and sniffed Draco and Neville. Draco leaned back in his chair to escape them. The house elf who seemed to be the leader’s eyes widened in understanding. “This is what Whimsy means when she says she has a special ingredient we is needing to put in the sweets for her Master’s business!”

The collective “Ahhhh,” that range through the group of house elves was rather unnerving.

Neville leaned in and whispered. “Do you think you could ask them if they have any more of those jam tarts we can take back with us?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and slowly turned his head to face Neville. He curled his fingers, beckoning Neville to lean in so he could better hear what Draco had to say.

His palm made hard contact with the back of Neville’s head.

“ _Ow_! What the hell, you fucker? All I wanted was some more jam tarts.”

“You don’t need the calories anyway, Longbottom,” Draco said, getting up from his chair. He smiled charmingly at the house elves. They were still weary of the young man who willingly chose to marry the Curly-Haired Demoness. “Thank you all ever so much for your hospitality.” He began walking back towards the entrance.

The house elves remained silent.

“We’re going now.”

More silence.

Draco’s smile widened. “Okay, bye now.” His eyes darted over to where Longbottom was shifting through a basket of sweets, pilfering pastries to take with him. He whispered manically, “Longbottom, get your _arse_ over here.”

Neville rushed to the door, taking small steps so as not to drop his treats.

Once they were on the other side of the wall, Draco let his head fall back on the wall. “I will never understand why Hermione likes those things so much.”

Neville shut his eyes as he bit into a apple-walnut muffin. “Shrsly, Malfoy. You haff to try vis.”

Draco grimaced, taking the muffin forcefully from Neville and crumbling it in his hands. “Do you _enjoy_ having abs, Longbottom? I realize it’s somewhat new to you, but speaking as someone who’s had them for a while, I can say, they’re fickle bitches. _Nothing_ will scare them away faster than consuming simple carbohydrates.”

Neville gazed longingly at the crumbs in the floor from the genius muffin. He knew what Draco was saying made sense, but it was difficult to care when the marijuana in his system told him that the only thing in the world that really mattered was the muffin his blond friend just demolished.

“Why do I get the feeling we just fucked up somehow?” Draco asked.

“You did. You destroyed my muffin, and I—”

“Not _that_ , you tit. I meant more about the…” he paused, realizing he had not made Neville privy to the information Evan Atkinson shared with him earlier that day. It would probably be wiser to do so when they were both sober. “Nothing, Longbottom. Just…” Should he tell him now? It’d be good for him to know. After all, it _was_ his idea, his strain, his product. Maybe he could handle it. Maybe he could—

“Owmagawd, Malfoy. You’ve _got_ to try these rumballs.”

He sighed. “You’re never going to get Lana Mammott to shag you.”

____________________________________

 

Several days had passed and Evan Atkinson had nothing new to report regarding MacMillan’s everyday comings and goings. Draco was starting to think maybe the git was giving up. Which was _excellent_ because edibles were a go.

Whimsy provided the kitchen elves with the ‘special herb,’ the nature of which remained a mystery to the naïve creatures. They assumed it only made people hungry, which was _just fine_ by them.

Draco couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he and Neville somehow fucked up the night they went to the kitchen on the brink of weed-induced starvation. But the specifics of that evening were somewhat hazy. In fact, Draco could barely focus on the events that transpired without exploding in laughter at the fact that over the next few days, Neville was a sappy mess, worried to death that his abs would disappear forever because of the sweets he consumed that evening. Draco did nothing to discourage this paranoia. It was always funny to watch Longbottom have a nervous breakdown.

Draco sauntered through the halls, his mind on his money and his money on his mind, when all of a sudden, he heard a voice.

An omen, really.

“ _Draco_!”

The subject blond groaned as Evan Atkinson bounded towards him, sweat and desperation dripping off of him. “It’s MacMillan, sir. ‘e’s been talking to ‘ouse elves!”

“What?”

“ _‘ouse elves_ , sir! ‘ere’s this one by the name of Gimpy ‘oo’s not too fond of your girl, sir. She’s been leavin’ them these ‘ats, you see, an’—”

“I _know_ that my fiancée is certifiably insane when it comes to house elves, Atkinson. What I don’t understand, is what in _Merlin’s sodding ballsack_ MacMillan is hoping to accomplish by talking to house elves? Did this _Gimpy_ say anything to Dick-Millan about Hermione?” For one crazy moment, Draco’s Black side flared up and he understood why Elladora Black decapitated house elves and used them for furnishing.

“No, sir. But Gimpy told ‘im about the deal your ‘ouse elf…the shrill one with the pretty pillowcase tried to make with the rest ‘o them. ‘bout the edibles, sir.”

Draco released a silent ‘Ohhhhh,’ pushing down the panic bubbling in his stomach. It wouldn’t do to lose his cool in front of a lackey. “Where is this ‘Gimpy’?”

He was certain it would be all too easy to convince the creature to retract this confession. House elf or not, everyone wanted something. Draco had yet to meet any creature, indoctrinated to crave servitude or no, who wouldn’t accept a well-placed bribe. Maybe he’d let the little fool darn his socks or something. Surely that would be more than reward enough.

“I don’ think tha’ll work, sir. Gimpy’s right stropped at your girl, ya see, and ‘e finks ‘at ‘e can ‘urt ‘er by turning you in.”

Well, that did put a damper on things. “Where’s MacMillan?”

Evan gulped. “‘e said somefin’ abou’ goin’ down to a greenhouse, sir.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Why the _bloody fuck_ didn’t you stop him, Atkinson?”

“I did, sir. I came to get you soon as I ‘eard.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

____________________________________

 

Draco found a red-faced MacMillan and a puce-colored Filch struggling with the greenhouse door. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?”

MacMillan rounded on him. “ _You_! How did I not see it before? It was so obvious. Let us through this door _right now_ , Malfoy.”

Draco brought a hand to touch his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t believe I will. Very sensitive plant life growing in there, you see. Wouldn’t want to disturb them. Circle of life and all.”

“You’re growing _marijuana_ in there. I _know_ it!”

Draco brought a hand to clutch his imaginary pearls. “That’s quite an accusation, MacMillan. Have you any proof?”

“I spoke to a house elf who says that you—”

“Riiiight. Because it’s not like I’m engaged to a woman who is the bane of all house elves existence or anything, am I? There would be _no_ reason _whatsoever_ for an old, conservative house elf to lie to you, would there be MacMillan?”

MacMillan’s jaw dropped ever so slightly. Filched nudged him. “Don’t get tripped up now, boy. We came here for a reason and nobody’s leaving until _somebody_ gets _punished_!”

“Hey! What’s going on here?”

It was Neville.

Draco affected a slouched, bored stance. “These two are attempting to barge in on our greenhouse, thus destroying our Herbology project and bashing any hopes and dreams we had at obtaining an N.E.W.T. in the class, and by extension, an honest living.” He locked eyes with Neville and communicated with a look that said: “ _Let me handle this, you bloody, great, Gryffindor sod_.”

“An _honest living_ is exactly what you are _not_ making.” MacMillan’s eyes darted back and forth between the two boys. “You’re in on this too, aren’t you, Longbottom. I knew it. I knew I should have trusted my instincts.”

“Hang them _both_ by their ankles and let the crows peck their soft bits,” Filch said with ardent blood lust.

MacMillan patted Filch on the back. “Now, Argus, that isn’t the way we handle things. Minerva certainly wouldn’t approve.”

Neville and Draco rolled their eyes at the Head Boy’s pretentious use of the staff’s given names, as if he was their peer.

Filch looked like he was about to cry. “But you _promised_ —”

“I hate to interrupt this heartwarming exchange of kissy faces you two are making at one another, but if you could take your lover’s tiff elsewhere, my Herbology partner and I would very much appreciate it. Otherwise, we’ll just have to go get Professor Sprout and tell her you two are sabotaging her students’ work. Isn’t she your head of house, MacMillan?”

MacMillan opened and closed his mouth several times. “I’m…Head Boy.”

“You are? Oh, my gods, I didn’t know. I wish you had said something. Can I blow you?” Draco intoned.

MacMillan gaped at the Slytherin’s cheek. “Twenty points from Slytherin, Malfoy.”

Draco shrugged. “Take forty for all I care.”

MacMillan pointed a furious finger at Draco. “Now you listen here, Malfoy. You think you’re so—”

“What on _Mother Earth_ is going on here?”

It was Professor Sprout. Never had Draco and Neville been so happy to see her.

MacMillan straightened his posture haughtily. “Pomona, I’m actually quite glad you’re here. It appears these two are using one of your greenhouses for nefarious purposes, I’m sorry to say.”

Professor Sprout released a Santa Clausesque belly laughs. “Of course, they’re not. They’re working on an independent study project for my class. It’s all quite above the waist,” she said, edging between the two boys. “And what have I told you about calling me ‘Pomona,’ Mr. MacMillan?”

 _Speaking_ of above the waist, Draco could have done with her keeping her hand off his. The little circles she was rubbing on his spine nauseated the beJesus out of him.

“But, Professor, I—”

“I’d appreciate it if you did not try to sabotage my students’ projects, Mr. MacMillan. Just because _you_ opted against taking Advanced Herbology doesn’t mean _some_ people don’t find it useful.”

 _Get your hand. Off my arse. You infinity-aged minger_ , Draco thought. He chanced a sideways glance at Neville who looked as though he was about to cry. Draco would have bet every last Galleon in his Gringotts vaults that he knew where her other hand was.

Filch was bouncing with the urge to maim a student. “Pomona, can I _please_ —”

“And that’s enough from you too, Argus. Even if these boys had been _naughty_ , they haven’t been bad enough for _you_ to punish them.”

Draco didn’t like the way she said the words ‘naughty’ and ‘you’—like _she_ might be able to punish them.

He never thought he’d say this, but if it came to it, he’d take Filch.

Once the two were out of sight, Professor Sprout gave each of their arses a hefty slap. “You boys will break an old woman’s _heart_ ,” she said as she walked away.

Draco and Neville were left wearing identical expressions of ‘I want my mummy.’ They slowly approached the greenhouse door and opened it, neither trusting themselves to say anything yet.

Once they were both safely inside, Draco bolted the door and turned to face Neville. “Did I mention MacMillan knows?”

Neville, still recovering from the burn of Professor Sprout’s hand on his arse, couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry at his partner. “You did not.”

Draco rubbed his face. “Well, he does. It was that fucking house elf. The old one. He betrayed us.”

Neville stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground. “Huh.”

Draco rounded on Neville. “That’s all you’ve got to say about it? ‘ _Huh_ ’? We are in _deep shit_ , Longbottom. And I’m not going to bloody Azkaban for this.”

Neville sobered at the word ‘Azkaban’? “They wouldn’t send us there, would they? I mean, we’re…we’re just a couple of kids.”

Draco shrugged. “We’re both of age. They might. Not for long, mind you, but long enough where we’d both get passed around like a couple of bongs at Glastonbury. You think Professor Pervert is bad? It’s not often they get blokes as pretty as us in there, Longbottom! _Especially_ me! _Look at me_. I’m a fucking vision! I don’t stand a _chance_.”

Neville shook himself. “ _Nobody_ is going to Azkaban, Malfoy. We just need a plan for how to get rid of this.”

“Agreed. But first, that miserable old coot is going to pay.”

Neville quirked an eyebrow. “The house elf? Come on, Malfoy. What would Hermione say?”

Draco tapped his foot. Damn Longbottom. He was right. “Fine. But he’s going to have to deal with Whimsy. I certainly won’t stop _her_ from inciting revenge. _Whimsy_!”

With a pop, the silken pillow-case-clad house elf appeared. “Master Draco calls for Whimsy?”

Draco bent down to speak to her so they were eye-to-eye. “Whimsy, you know I respect the hell out of you. Which is why I need to tell you that you have been betrayed.”

Whimsy’s already enormous eyes bugged out of her head. “Betrayed? Who would betray Whimsy?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Gimpy.”

Neville snorted. Of course, Malfoy couldn’t remember Hannah’s name, but a house elf who didn’t even work for him, he remembered.

Whimsy’s orb eyes seemed to glow with retribution. The gleam in her eyes that usually read as cheerful moxie, darkened.

Neville thought he’d be shitting himself if he was Gimpy right now.

Whimsy snarled. “A betrayal to Whimsy is a betrayal of the House of Malfoy.”

Draco nodded. “Whimsy, you have my permission to go crazy.”

With a nod and a pop, she disappeared.

Neville sighed. “What in the bleeding dark corners of hell have you done?”

Draco stood up and dusted off his trousers. “I’m not sure. Fancy watching it blow up?”

Neville rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go on then.”

________________________________

 

When they arrived in the kitchen to witness the carnage Whimsy laid down on Gimpy’s arse, they were not disappointed.

Gimpy was squirming and struggling while hanging from the ceiling by his tea cozy. He looked quite frightened of the half-his-age-and-size elf.

“ _WHIMSY WILL SHOW YOU WHAT IT MEANS TO MESS WITH HOUSE MALFOY_!!!!” She menacingly patted her palm with a rolling pin, her intent on its purpose evident from the way she glared at the elderly house elf.

Several house elves immediately approached Draco and Neville and hounded them with apologies for their ill-meaning colleague. “Gimpy is a bad elf, but the rest of us never had any part in telling Shiny Badge Mister about White-Haired Mister’s special herb.”

“All we wanted was for White-Haired Mister to tell Meany Miss to stop hiding clothes! We is never wanting to hurt White-Haired Mister.”

Another house elf approached Draco with tears in his eyes, his over-sized ears drooping on either side of his head. “Does this mean we is not getting to bake for Pointy-Faced Mister and Bull-Headed Miss’s wedding?”

It was all quite overwhelming.

Draco spoke in an authoritative, yet kind voice to reassure them. “We understand you all had nothing to do with it. And we are most grateful for your willingness to help us.”

“Oh, yes! We is helping Young Misters with their special project!”

“ _Excellent_.” Draco said. “I’m so very glad to hear that.” He regarded the eagerness in their eyes; the delight at the prospect of serving. “Just how fast can you all bake?”

“Oh, _very fast_ Pale-Faced Mister!”

“Very fast indeed!”

“We is the fastest!”

“We is making stew for tonight’s dinner even as we speaks!” “Fair Mister will be impressed with our efficiency,” said a house elf wearing a fuschia tea towel. Even as she bragged on their efficiency, one of the house elves in the back scrambled furiously around the kitchen, looking for some spare oregano to go in tonight’s stew.

Draco shot Neville a look, indicating he had found an answer to their problem. “We have quite a large amount of this special herb, you see,” he said, grabbing a handful of the marijuana sitting precariously on the counter from where Whimsy had brought it to them days ago. “And we would be most appreciative if you could get rid of it for us by baking it into your _delicious_ confections. We’d need you to set them aside for us, however. Understood? Be _absolutely certain_ you do not serve it to anyone at Hogwarts. Alright?”

About twenty house elf heads nodded simultaneously, vehemently agreeing to Draco’s terms.

“Wonderful. Whimsy, stop playing with Gimpy and go back to the Manor to have some of the others help you transfer the ‘special herb’ to the kitchens.”

Whimsy, who was currently standing atop a ladder, tickling Gimpy’s feet with a feather duster while he hung helpless from the ceiling, froze. “Whimsy will _not_ let Master Draco down!” With a salute, she Apparated away.

Gimpy sighed in relief. “Could someone please let Gimpy down?”

Ignoring the old house elf’s plea, Draco turned to Neville with a smug expression, feeling quite impressed with his damage control technique. “And _that_ is how it’s done.”

Nobody noticed when the stew chef victoriously dumped a large amount of marijuana into the cauldron, having finally found what he believed to be oregano.

_______________________________________

 

As they left the kitchen, Neville felt the need to point out that their troubles weren’t entirely over, despite Draco’s successful charming of the house elves. “You know, we’ve _still_ got to get rid of all the treats. How do you propose we do that? Your little bunnies aren’t _that_ fast.”

Draco narrowed his eyes in contemplation. “What we need is a wholesale buyer.”

Without missing a beat, Neville said, “George.”

Draco groaned. “ _No_. I am not bringing a Weasley into this. They turn everything they touch into poverty.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “You do know that Weasley Wizard Wheezes is one of the most successful companies in wizarding Britain?”

Draco huffed, knowing that Neville’s idea was actually a pretty good one, but desperate to cling to his denial. “The only Weasley who is even remotely tolerable is the She-Weasel.”

“Oh, _come_ on. Molly and Arthur are nice.”

Draco had met them at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, which he attended as Hermione’s date. He refused to amend his previous statement. Sure, they _seemed_ all cuddly and polite at first. But Draco swore he he caught them giving him these looks like, ‘ _This is the punk who came along and dashed to hell all our hopes and dreams of having Hermione Granger as a daughter-in-law_.’ “There must be someone else.”

“There are _plenty_ of people we can sell to, Malfoy. But every single one of them will be seedy as shit and none of them will cut us the deal George will.”

Draco ground his teeth, realizing this was the best option. “Fine. But after this I will have reached my Be-Nice-to-a-Weasley-for-Hermione’s-sake quota for the rest of the year.”

Neville narrowed his eyes at Draco. “No more keeping things from me, got it?”

Draco shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, Longbottom. Come on. Let’s go serve my bollocks on a silver platter to that oversized Weasley freckle.”

“Just think how happy Hermione will be to hear you two were playing nice together.”

Hermione didn’t know it yet, but if he could get through this without killing George Weasley, she owed him a bouquet of blow jobs.


	6. Bloody Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be six chapters, but I just couldn't do it. There will be one more chapter after this one.
> 
> Beta love to SaintDionysus, my bro.

Neville and Draco Apparated into Diagon Alley, courtesy of Whimsy, to meet George Weasley. When they arrived on the stoop of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, Neville turned to Draco with a smug expression to mirror Draco’s own favored countenance.

“Let me do the talking, eh, Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “With pleasure.” He loathed the part of his brain that was curious about Weasley’s store, having never been inside one before. Knowing how exceptionally annoying George Weasley was, the store was bound to eclipse Zonkos. The mischievous little boy in Draco thrummed with excitement to be in the presence of so much rule-breaking potential.

They entered the store and Draco immediately fought every instinct he had to keep his jaw upright. The place reeked of absurd opulence; neon colors everywhere, impossibly high ceilings, noise and chaos leaking from every corner. Hot pink bubbles that stank of bubble gum floated past his head. Doll-sized, shrieking golems that suspiciously looked an awful lot like Peeves, tried to pickpocket the customers. The very air seemed to mock him, like the shop itself was a sort of practical joke. It all teetered on the edge of cloyingly immature and goddamned impressive, magically speaking.

“Well, well, well. As I live and breathe, Neville Longbottom.” The lanky, fire-headed proprietor of the shop leaned against a nearby column, smirking like a fool, wearing a bright orange dragon-hide jacket. It was extra as _fuck_ , but then, the same could be said about the shop and pretty much everything else to do with George Weasley.

Draco immediately erased any trace that he was impressed with the shop from his face.

Neville shook hands with George. “Alright, George?”

“Are you bunking off? I thought you were still at Hogwarts.”

Draco might have been a dull, beige-colored furnishing for all the attention Weasley paid to him.

“Sorry for dropping in like this, George, but Malfoy and I need some help.”

George’s eyes flickered over to Draco. “Alright, Malfoy?”

“Alright, Weasley,” Draco responded, his voice drier than a thousand deserts.

George looked so smug his smirk had a smirk. “How’s your mum?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, are we still doing this?”

George shrugged. “That depends. Is your mum still fit?”

Draco scoffed. “Well, seeing as she’s still my mum, I’m going to say ‘no.’”

“But she is actually _really_ fit, your mum.”

“Lovely. I think I’ll just pop out here while you and Longbottom chat.”

George grabbed Malfoy by the shoulder and scuffled his hair. Draco looked like he would have loved nothing more than to rip out his trachea. “Oh, _come_ on, Malfoy. I’ve got to take a piss a bit. You can’t tell me the Slytherin lads didn’t want to fuck your mum. Unless they were all bent, which I wouldn’t discount completely.”

Draco snarled. If any of the blokes in Slytherin harbored any lust towards his mother, they knew better than to talk about it in front of Draco.

George turned to Neville for support. “Neville, I’m not wrong, am I? Malfoy’s mum is fit.”

Neville shrugged and shot Draco an apologetic look. “Sorry, mate. She is quite fit.”

Since he and Hermione got together, Draco had been forced to spend long stretches of time around Gryffindors. But he could spend a lifetime around them and never understand how they socialized. “Unbelievable.”

“ _I’d_ fuck her,” George said nonchalantly.

“Cheers,” Draco drawled.

Neville bit his lip apprehensively. “Yeah, I think I would too.”

“Can we _please_ stop talking about my _mum_? She’s my mother. She gave birth to me. She _cannot_ be fit.”

“She is though,” George said, squinting his eyes in an almost apologetic way. “Do you know if she’s into younger men?”

“You know, oddly enough, it’s really never come up in conversation,” Draco said, sarcastically.

“Would you put in a good word for me?”

Draco appeared to think about it for a second. “Well, let’s see. Hmmm…no. No, I fucking wouldn’t.”

Knowing George’s precocity for argumentation and the likelihood that they could be here all day, Neville decided it was high time to intervene. “We’re here, George because Malfoy and I have started a business. The thing is…it’s _kind_ of illegal.”

George nodded. “Okay. I’m with you. How illegal are we talking? Against school regulations or Ministry-prohibited?”

“Ministry, Hogwarts, pretty sure it’s illegal in the Muggle world too…you name it, really.”

George broke into a broad grin. “I respect that. And I can easily relate.”

“Exactly. Which is why we thought of you immediately.”

Draco fought the urge not to scoff at Neville’s generous use of the word ‘we.’

Neville continued. “I’ve developed a strain of magical cannabis and Malfoy’s been in charge of sales. We’ve done pretty well so far, but the administration is about to find out because our dickhole of a Head Boy knows.”

Draco fought the urge to bring up the house elf treachery. It wasn’t necessary to the pitch, and any superfluous communication between himself and Weasley might be erroneously construed as conversation.

George nodded. “And where do I come into this?”

“We’re getting rid of the evidence by having the Hogwarts house elves bake it into sweets. But we need a buyer. Someone who could sell the goods to get them off our hands.”

George grinned. “I’m honored.” He turned to Malfoy. “How does your fiancée feel about you becoming a drug mogul?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t know. I guess I’ve been too preoccupied with the worry that some Azkaban-hardened psychopath is going to turn me into his prison bitch to get around to telling her.”

George chuckled. “Probably wise on your part to worry about that. I’d wager you’d get torn apart in Azkaban. I’ve fucked uglier girls than you, for sure.”

“Charming. Are you going to help us or not?”

George sniggered and turned to face Neville, his thumb pointing in Draco’s direction. “This fucking guy. All business, aren’t you, Malfoy?” He moved his hand to scuffle Draco’s hair again.

This time, Draco anticipated the move and grabbed Weasley’s wrist before he was able to achieve his goal. “Touch my hair again, Weasley, and you’ll never have to worry about fucking ugly girls ever again.”

“Tetchy little sod, aren’t you?”

Though he adored the Weasleys, Neville did understand how they could be, as a group, frustrating. Short attention spans and an inability to hold a linear conversation seemed to run in their genes. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “We really would appreciate your help, George. I realize it’s maybe asking a lot, but I think it could end up being a good deal for you too. Surely you have customers who’d be interested?”

George nodded and waved his hand at Neville. “Yeah, of course, I’ll do it. The Ministry doesn’t have labeling laws, so I can market them as containing some sort of potion that…I don’t know…calms you down or something. No one needs to know the truth.”

Draco grinned, impressed with the former-Gryffindor’s callous attitude towards ethics. He had always assumed Gryffindors were, across the board, a load of self-righteous pillocks.

Exhibit One, next to him, proved this point. “Are you sure, George? Isn’t that a bit…I don’t know…unethical? Don’t people deserve to know what they're putting in their bodies?”

George snickered. “If the Ministry’s so concerned with health and safety, they are more than welcome to _pass_ a labeling law and create a department specifically designed to enforce it. I mean look around, lads. My products are _full_ of potions. And most people have no idea what goes in them because they couldn’t get the O.W.L. to take Snape’s class. If anything, this is better, because there’s just _one_ unknown ingredient instead of an entire potion-full.”

Draco felt a stab of hesitant respect for the Weasley’s ability to spin something of questionable morality into a pill that Longbottom could swallow. He probably would have made a hell of a Slytherin.

Neville seemed pacified, and George seemed excited. In retrospect, Draco realized that they should never have questioned Weasley’s eagerness to help them. They’d essentially offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse—the prospect of breaking Hogwarts regulations _and_ making some money at the same time.

“Have a house elf bring the product, and we can talk money once I get a look at everything.”

“Sounds good,” Draco said.

George shot him a smarmy grin. “Do say hello to your mum for me, will you, Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re a massive dick, Weasley.”

“ _Noooo_. I _have_ a massive dick. There’s a difference. Just ask your mum.”

“Weasley, leave my mum out of this, and I’ll leave _this_ ,” he rolled his hips suggestively, “out of _your_ mum,” Draco said, smirking with the satisfaction of turning the tables on him.

George sneered at the childish joke. “Malfoy, you are truly an _enormous_ arsehole.”

Draco bowed slightly. “And you, Weasley, are a wanker of epic proportions.”

George barked in laughter. “Maybe, but I’m a _wanker_ who’s saving your poncey arse, Malfoy. And if I’m satisfied with the sweets, maybe we can do this again. I’m always on the lookout for new products.”

Neville shot a questioning look at Draco. _Do we dare_?

A feckless glint appeared in Draco’s eyes. _We do_.

______________________________________

 

Neville and Draco returned to Hogwarts just in time for dinner, feeling immensely impressed with themselves and eager for a well-earned meal. Unfortunately, upon setting foot in the Great Hall, they realized this was not to be unless they fancied fighting for crumbs.

On tonight’s menu was Irish stew, cottage pie, and shakshuka with feta—all of which contained the oh so special ingredient…oregano.

It was pandemonium.

Draco and Neville watched in horror as every student and faculty member licked their bowls clean as they leapt for the next available dish of potatoes, gravy, rolls, or even a second (or third) helping of whatever “oregano”-filled dish they had just consumed. They all appeared to be rabid with the desire to consume, their eyes glassy and unfocused. It was like watching a field of zombies fight over a pile of fresh brains. Even the most well-mannered of the students and faculty abandoned all semblance of propriety as they tore into their feast. Even McGonagall had gravy dripping from her chin.

“…Whoa,” Neville said as he watched Argus Filch smack Mrs. Norris in the face for trying to eat off his plate. He then proceeded to stack a mountain of mashed potatoes onto said plate, and shovel them into his mouth before muttering, “ _Genius_ ,” under his breath.

“Fuck,” Draco said, immediately understanding what must have happened. “We can’t be here.”

“Agreed.”

The two of them tore off in the direction of the kitchens. Draco glared out of the corner of his eye at Neville. “This is all your fault.”

“ _Me_? It was _your_ idea to get the house elves in on doing edibles for us. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Draco laughed. “What you do not realize, Longbottom, is that without me, this project never would have even gotten off the ground. If you’d shown a little leadership from the beginning, I wouldn’t have had to do all the legwork.”

Neville fumed. “ _You_ did all the legwork, did you? What about back there at the shop? Where was your legwork then? I thought you were supposed to be the business-savvy one and I was supposed to be the charmless troll with dirt under my fingernails. But if it weren’t for me, we’d still be stuck with a greenhouse full of weed and nowhere to put it.”

“You got _lucky_ back there, and face it, Longbottom. Without me, you would have nothing. You would have had, from the _very beginning_ , a greenhouse full of weed and nowhere to put it. You are an _appalling_ kingpin without me. You _need_ my dubious morality because you are a twat who probably couldn’t even score a deal inside of a _brothel_.”

Neville opened his mouth to retort when a sound interrupted their argument. It was a sound which, per precedent, had never _not_ announced a shit storm was on the horizon.

“ _Draco_!”

Draco stopped in his tracks. “Bloody buggering _fuck_ , Atkinson. _What_?” He turned to face him, and his face fell immediately.

A bound and furious Hermione was thrown over Atkinson’s shoulder, thrashing and struggling and screaming her head off. Or at least she would have been if she hadn’t been Silenced.

Draco’s nails dug into his fist. “Atkinson, I am in no way exaggerating when I say that if you do not put her down _this instant_ , I will tear your limbs from your body.”

“Sorry, sir,” the repentant boy said, setting the angry little witch down on the ground. “I ‘ad no choice. MacMillan was on the prowl looking for you two an’ ‘e said somefin’ about interrogatin’ your girl. I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I ‘ad to ‘ide ‘er. She wouldn’t come any other way!” He released Hermione from her bonds and lifted the Silencing Charm.

She immediately jumped up and punched Evan Atkinson in the stomach. “ _That’s_ for abducting me, you zit-faced imbecile! How _dare_ you?” She rounded on Draco. “And _you_!”

Draco’s eyes rounded into frightened orbs. “Hermione, darling, don’t you think we could discuss this somewhere private?”

“Nope! I’m going to yell at you right here, right now.” She cleared her throat. “Why the _fuck_ would MacMillan be under the impression that the two of you,” she motioned between Draco and Neville, “are selling magical marijuana to the students?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at the two young men. “It wouldn’t happen to be because you _are_ , would it?”

Neville held a terrified breath while Draco adopted his most charming, panty-dropping grin and _slowly_ attempted to approach her. “Hermione, baby, what you need to understand is— _ouch_ ,” he said as she slapped his hand away when he attempted to touch her arm.

“You don’t get to touch me right now,” she said. Her gaze shifted to Neville. “Neville…you’ll give me the No Bullshit version, won’t you?”

He gulped and found himself nodding vehemently. “If I tell you, you’ve got to promise not to hate me.”

“Why would I hate you?”

He took a deep breath before answering. “Well…it kind of all started when I listened to Malfoy shagging you against my greenhouse.”

_________________________________________

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Hermione said, speaking finally. “You developed a magical strain of marijuana that can be either a relaxant _or_ a party drug. Draco deduced this and used your accidental voyeurism to blackmail his way into a partnership with you. He used _this_ git,” she said, pointing to Atkinson, “and two others to sell to the students and protect your collective anonymity. And MacMillan found out because of a house elf, who _hates_ me because I care about his well-being, ratted on you two when you tried to use the Hogwarts house elves’ _manual slave labor_ to create edibles. And now you’re using Weasley Wizard Wheezes as a mass distributor to get rid of them before you two get caught.” She sighed. “I’m confused.”

“Really? Because you got it _exactly_ right,” Neville said.

“No. I’m confused because I don’t understand why you two would keep this from me.” She turned to Draco. “We’re going to be married soon. Husbands and wives tell should each other everything.”

Draco sighed. “ _Believe_ me, Hermione. I wanted to tell you. But I knew you’d feel conflicted about it because you’re Head Girl and, per Hogwarts’ rules, you’d be obligated to turn us in. And I would have accepted that, but _you_ would have felt like shit because we’d have probably gotten expelled. I did everything I could to keep you out of this.”

Hermione’s eyes softened. “That’s…oddly sweet. And you’re right. I would have felt compelled to turn you in. But MacMillan is obviously belligerent on the power of being Head Boy. He’s out of control. And he needs to be stopped.” Her eyes narrowed as if she was formulating a plan.

Draco felt strangely aroused watching her go into Evil Genius mode.

“Oh, and another thing,” Neville said. “We’re about ninety-nine percent sure the house elves accidentally slipped some of the marijuana into tonight’s food, thinking it was oregano. So, everyone is stoned out of their mind.”

Somewhere in the background, a cricket chose the most comically accurate moment to begin singing.

“This is _perfect_ ,” Hermione said.

“Interesting word choice,” said Draco. “I would have replaced ‘perfect’ with something more like ‘an unparalleled catastrophe,’ but you’re the genius, love.”

“Think about it,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “This is the perfect moment for you to conclude your transaction with George. Everyone’s distracted, _including_ MacMillan. A well-placed charm and we can probably make it seem like we were all in the Great Hall too. Neville, does your strain leave any residual effects?”

“No. If they didn’t know they were taking drugs at the time, they probably won’t realize it once it wears off. They might just think the food was especially tasty tonight.”

“Excellent. Whimsy can talk to the rest of the house elves and make sure they don’t talk. Do you think Professor Sprout will tell anyone?”

Both Neville and Draco tensed up at the mention of Professor Sprout. Draco shot Neville a significant look. “I am _so_ not above using you as an inducement.”

Neville’s eyes rounded. “Not on your damn life, Malfoy. You are not pimping me out to Professor Sprout.”

“You are certifiably insane if you think that I won’t.”

“Am I missing something?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I forgot to mention,” Draco said. “That woman has been sniffing after my fine arse.”

“Mine too,” Neville said evenly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and waved off the information. “If she sexually harasses either of you, we can use that as blackmail to get her fired,” Hermione said without batting an eyelash.

“You’d do that?” Draco asked, totally head over heels in awe of his fiancée.

“Yes. And I wouldn’t lose a minute of sleep over it,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Draco’s eyes darkened, his mind turned to mush over how profoundly hot Hermione was when she protected that which was hers. “If we were alone right now, I would bend you over the nearest surface and fu—”

“ _Please_ don’t finish that sentence,” Neville pleaded.

“Let me worry about MacMillan,” she said, a dark promise lingering in her voice. “You two just make certain the house elves finish the edibles so you can get them to George.”

Draco smiled. “You’re a marvel.”

“And you’re an idiot,” she said fondly. “From now on, when you do something stupid or illegal, you will tell me about it so I can help.”

He sighed. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you, too. It’s the only explanation I can think of as to why I put up with you.”

Draco smiled and circled his arms around her waist. “You know, when you use your Head Girl voice and take charge like that, it _really_ makes me want to—”

“ _Still here_ ,” Neville said. “Nothing good ever came from me watching the two of you go at it. I’m certainly not about to make a habit of it, so kindly keep it in your pants, Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes and reluctantly released Hermione from his arms. “Come on, Longbottom. Let’s go babysit the house elves and make sure they haven’t cocked up our business.”

______________________________________

 

Yeah. It was a goddamned mess in the kitchens.

So voracious were the appetites of the human population of Hogwarts, the house elves couldn’t seem to cook fast enough to satisfy them. As soon as a bowl or platter was emptied, it needed to be refilled. Sure, the Hogwarts house elf model of feeding the masses wasn’t the most ethical from an environmental point of view, as it generally yielded an ungodly amount of food waste, but no one could ever say they went hungry at Hogwarts.

A fine layer of flour coated the majority of the kitchen’s flat surfaces. Every so often a ladle or a root vegetable would fly across the room. The house elves panicked so fervently, they sounded like a choir of rabid field mice.

The house elf in the fuchsia tea towel approached them, her makeshift clothing filthy from the plethora of food residues coating the fabric. “Blond and Eyebrow Misters comes for their treats. We has them set asides for Distinctive-Faced Misters. But we is very busy now, so not to be rude to Misters, but we is not being able to talk.”

Perhaps because they managed to bake prior to the disastrous dinner mix-up, the elves miraculously managed to concoct a flawless selection of brownies, cupcakes, bonbons, macarons, and tartlets that would have even Hermione’s dentist parents salivating as well as sending them into a hazy, cannabis coma.

Whimsy bowed to the Hogwarts house elves as the Malfoy Manor staff Apparated to Diagon Alley with the treats. “Whimsy thanks you all for your helps. The ancient House of Malfoy is honored by your kindness. Except Gimpy,” she said, casting a dark look at the house elf. “Gimpy is a bad elf.”

“Yes. Gimpy is a bad elf,” several of the house elves agreed, pausing long enough in their feverish cooking frenzies to chastise their colleague.

“Could somebody _please_ help Gimpy down?” Gimpy was still dangling by his tea cozy from the chandelier.

The fuchsia-toweled elf took a moment to bow back to Whimsy. “The Hogwarts elves is honored to bake for the White-Haired Mister, even though he marries the Meanie Miss. We hopes that Meanie Miss will stop terrorizing house elves now that she becomes Whimsy’s Mistress.”

Whimsy bowed again. “Thank you. Whimsy hopes it too.” With a plucky little pop, she too, Disapparated.

Neville sighed. “Well. We did it. We actually pulled it off.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “I suppose we do actually work pretty well together, don’t we?”

Neville chuckled. “I suppose we do.” In that moment, he realized that in all his years of adventures with his Gryffindor friends, he had never felt the type of camaraderie he felt with Draco Malfoy. Dumbledore’s Army, Department of Mysteries, even the Final Battle couldn’t compare to the non-life-threatening thrill of running an illegal, semi-secret drug cartel with his childhood bully. Life truly was a funny thing. In a moment of clarity, he put his hand on Draco’s shoulder, happy that he had found such an unlikely friend and business partner.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Neville said, sheepishly moving his hand away.


	7. Neville and the New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! I have had an amazing time writing this little contribution to the High-verse. I have no plans to write any more stories in the series, but you never know. I have a lot of other projects I’d like to dedicate my time to, and I knew it was time to wrap up this little story. I can honestly say this is one of my favorite things I’ve written. 
> 
> A big ol’ thank you to SaintDionysus for her beta talents and her enthusiasm for this story and “those weirdos” as she lovingly describes Neville and Draco. Through her encouragement, I feel very strongly about the whole BroTrope of Neville and Draco. I want to see more of this in other stories, so I strongly encourage people to write it!!! I’ll read it happily!
> 
> Also, thank you to each and every person who has followed this crazy story. I’ll end 2017 on a sappy note with the conclusion of this story and my love for you guys.

They had arranged to rendezvous with Hermione once Whimsy delivered the treats to George. She, in the meantime, had been working with Atkinson to keep tabs on MacMillan.

“I don’t see why we can’t just lure him into one of the various murder traps arbitrarily located within this castle,” Draco said.

Hermione smirked at her bloodthirsty fiancé. “Oh, love. Your features are entirely too delicate for Azkaban.”

Neville snorted. “Bloody made for each other, you two.”

Hermione ignored him. “Besides, I’ve already taken care of it.”

“What did you do?” Draco asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Draco shot a menacing glare at Atkinson who appeared to be _properly_ terrified of Hermione. Little spaz was shaking in his faux dragonhide boots from spending the afternoon with her. Draco would bet half his fortune she had bossed him to hell and back. She had that look about her; that smug swagger like she had managed to impress herself; her prissy mouth pursed in self-satisfaction, her posture pointedly pristine.

Salazar’s _rod_ , he wanted to shag her right now.

But there was work to be done first. He turned to Evan to give him instructions. “Atkinson, I need you to find Baker and Mantel. We need to round up the last of the product and make sure to—”

“Already done, sir.”

Draco blinked dumbly at him for a moment. “Already done? I don’t understand.” He’d always assumed Evan was a bit like Crabbe and Goyle—loyal but utterly incapable of initiative.

“It’s been dealt with, Draco,” Hermione said, a tone of finality in her voice.

Draco narrowed his eyes back and forth between Evan and Hermione. Evan looked to be seconds away from pissing himself. “I still don’t—”

“Draco. Don’t push it,” Hermione said.

Neville stifled a chuckle. Though he was no longer a bully, Malfoy was still objectively the hardest guy in the school. But as hard as he was meant to be, it did not escape Neville’s notice that Hermione Granger, a five-foot-four and eight stone (much of which was hair) bookworm, essentially owned Malfoy’s balls.

As if to prove Neville’s point, Draco immediately shut his mouth and shrugged in compliance. “Fine.” He smirked at his fiancée. The _second_ they sorted out this mess, Draco was going to drag her away and not come up for air the rest of the day Why did she have to go all Super Swot on him _now_? She knew what that did to him. He shifted his stance in a feeble attempt to hide his rapidly inflating boner.

Luckily, Draco’s problem sorted itself out as a glassy-eyed, sluggish Ernie MacMillan approached their group. Just the sight of the overly starched little turd rendered him incapable of sustaining an erection.

“ _Malfoy_! _Longbottom_!” He pointed a finger between them and opened his mouth, all systems go to give them a stern lecture he’d probably practiced in the mirror. Suddenly, his face went blank. He had obviously forgotten what he was about to say.

“Ernie, I’m glad we ran into you,” Hermione said, flawlessly shifting from Queen Pin into Head Girl Mode. “I was wondering if you’d made any progress on your Drug-Free Campaign.”

His face broke out into the stupidest, smarmiest grin Draco had ever seen. “As a matter of fact, _Hermione_ , I’ve discovered that—”

“Curly-Haired Miss!” Winky said, arriving on the scene. “Winky is just now finishing the search of the dorms for the special herb Big-Haired Miss is telling us about.”

Hermione smiled fondly at the house elf. “You see, Ernie. I decided to take some initiative. You were absolutely right. As Head Girl, it’s my duty to help you.”

Draco contemplated how _Avada Kedavra_ was really too quick of a way to go for some people as he observed the absurd self-importance of the Head Boy in response to Hermione’s comment.

Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to be unaware of Draco’s vitriol. He averted her attention back to the house elf. “Did you find anything, Winky?”

Winky’s eyes doubled in size as she nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, _yes_ , Curly-Haired Miss! Winky is not finding anything herself, but one of the other elves found lots of the special herb in…” She paused, biting her lip and averting her gaze to the floor.

“Winky,” Hermione said, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. “You can tell me.”

Her lip shook as she hesitantly looked up at MacMillian and pointed a shaking finger at him. “Other house elves is finding the special herb in Shiny-Badged Mister’s room! He has lots and lots of it!”

Ernie immediately turned a puce color and sputtered in indignation. “That’s _ridiculous_! That’s just… I mean I _started_ the campaign. This house elf is obviously lying. This is infur-inating!” He promptly barreled over in a fit of laughter at his misstatement. “Inf- _urin_ ating! Classic Ern, you old chap.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Ernie. Are you high?”

He immediately stopped laughing. “High? I can’t be high. I don’t do drugs.”

“Right. Except you _are_. High, that is.”

Ernie gaped at the Head Girl and rounded on Neville and Draco. “You two did something! I know it!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What exactly are we meant to have done?”

Ernie blinked comically. “I don’t know.” He paused for a moment, his jaw agape. “ _But it had to be something_!”

“Ernie,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “Deflecting won’t help. I’m just…” She sighed again. “I’m very disappointed in you.”

Ernie looked like a kicked puppy.

“I think I’m going to have to take this to the Headmistress.”

“ _No_! Hermione, please. You can’t! I didn’t do anything!”

“So, you’re saying the house elves are lying and that you’re not high. Which, by the way, you clearly are.”

He gaped for a moment. “I…I…I don’t know. I…don’t really know what’s going on right now.”

“That’ll be the drugs,” Neville muttered.

“Maybe I was framed!”

“Seems fairly unlikely,” Draco said with faux sympathy. “It’s not like Longbottom and I could very well hold you down and _force_ you to do drugs.”

Ernie looked close to tears. “But I _swear_ , I really didn’t do anyth—”

Hermione placed her hands on her hips and continued to scold him. “You want to tell McGonagall that? Do you think she’ll believe you? Your state of sobriety doesn’t exactly inspire credibility right now, Ernie.”

Draco and Neville suppressed the part of them that wanted to point out that McGonagall too was stoned out of her mind right now, but they kept quiet. Hermione seemed like she had it all under control.

“ _Please_ don’t say anything, Hermione.”

“Why shouldn’t I? After all, you’ve spent the past few weeks harassing my fiancé and my friend. And it was you the entire time! Is that what you would call behavior befitting a Head Boy?”

Merlin’s saggy testicle, it would suck to be MacMillan right now. The Head Boy was so desperate, he was practically weeping. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m _so_ sorry. I promise I’ll leave Draco and Neville alone. I was…I was out of line.”

“What about me? I heard you had house elves tailing me. That is the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever heard, Ernie. I can’t believe you’d treat a colleague that way."

Draco had never been more attracted to Hermione while she was fully-clothed as he was at this moment. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a wife: brilliant, loyal, diabolical. And dat arse.

“Hermione, you know how much I respect you. I can’t apologize enough. I was wrong. Please don’t tell the Headmistress.”

Hermione appeared to be thinking. She regarded the pitiful little man prostrating himself before her and affected a pained expression. “I can’t believe I’m even _considering_ helping you after the way you treated me and my friends. I could compromise my own position as Head Girl if I covered for you, you do realize that? But…” She sighed in faux-defeat. “But I know how hard you’ve worked for your position, Ernie. And I know what it means to you. So, I’m going to give you an opportunity to get rid of the evidence.”

MacMillian’s eyes filled with grateful tears. “ _Thank you_ , Hermione.”

“ _However_ , since you’ve proven to be untrustworthy, I’m sending Winky with you. And I think you owe Winky an apology for calling her a liar.”

Ernie nearly tripped over himself to agree. Hermione couldn’t even look at the boy as her face shuffled through at least twenty different flawless expressions that would have put Meryl Streep to shame. _I’d like to thank the Academy._

Draco had never seen such artistry. Not from his father. Not from his mother. Not from any Slytherin. The little minx had managed to convince the Head Boy that he was not only delusional, which in itself would have been impressive, but that he was actually guilty himself.

“I can’t thank you enough, Hermione,” Ernie said, his eyes shining with relief that he would not be parted from his all-important Head Boy badge.

As soon as the Head Boy disappeared up the stairs with the house elf, Draco smoldered at Hermione. “You…” he panted. “Oh, you bad, _bad_ girl.” He grabbed her around the waist and buried his face in her neck. “You are _so_ getting fucked.”

Neville groaned. “Hermione, as grateful as I am to you for dealing with the Dick-Millian thing, could you _please_ convince that animal you’ve somehow agreed to marry that you two shouldn’t copulate in the middle of the corridor."

“Library,” she managed to choke out.

Draco might have broken his neck nodding to agree. “Lead the way.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up,” Neville said, grabbing Draco’s arm. “Don’t you think we should talk about what we’re going to do next? George did say we could—”

“ _Not_ a good time, Longbottom,” Draco said, growling at Neville.

“I’ll meet you in our spot,” Hermione said, shooting Draco a sultry look. “And I’ll be ready for you.”

Draco bit his lip in lustful agony at the realization that “ready” meant she would be strumming one out while waiting in the very spot in the Restricted Section where she sucked him off for the first time. “ _Fuck_. I promise, I’ll make this quick.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “Words you’ll say on your wedding night, Malfoy?”

“ _What_ do you want? Can’t you see I have more pressing matter to attend to?”

“I just think we should strategize. After all, if we are going to be working together in the future, we need to make sure that—”

“Look, I’m not going to argue with you, Longbottom. Not right now. I will concede that we are _fucking lucky_ to have gotten away with all the shite we got into this year. And in the future, I can’t promise to be less of a twat, as I’m sure you’ll obstinately continue to be the biggest chav in living history—”

“ _Oi_ , I’m not a fucking chav!” Neville exclaimed, chavly.

“— _but_ , I will promise to take all of this to heart and be less careless—”

“Good.”

“—even if I am regularly fucking a Gryffindor and getting her recklessness all over me.”

Neville sighed. “As crass and _fucking insulting_ as all of that is, I’ll take it for now.”

“Good. Now,” Draco straightened himself up. “It appears the Brightest Witch of Our Age has got a little Slytherin in her. I’m going to go put about eight inches more in her.”

“ _How_ you can even think about sex after we _just_ narrowly escaped Azkaban and expulsion is beyond me, Malfoy.”

Draco scoffed as though it were a ridiculous statement. “It’s safe to assume I’m pretty much _always_ thinking about sex, Longbottom. Have you bloody _seen_ my fiancée? And believe me. After spending a year with her and the Twat Twins on the run, I can tell you that nothing gets her hornier than a narrow escape with death or capture.”

“Didn’t need to know that, but alright,” Neville said.

“If you were smart, you’d take a leaf out of my book and go after Denna Nannott.”

Neville inhaled deeply, realizing it was useless to correct his business partner. One day he’d learn her name. “You think?”

“No, Longbottom. Wanking three times a day is _far_ more satisfying than getting off with a girl you fancy.”

Neville opened his mouth to argue, but realized he was right. He had a close call with authority today. He had done something dangerous and reckless. He was a bloody Gryffindor. Hot-blooded and proud. Perhaps, Neville, the Awkward Virgin should finally be put to bed, no pun intended.

“And _speaking_ of getting off, Longbottom, this conversation is over.” Draco promptly headed off in the direction of the library.

Neville chuckled and headed towards the Main Staircase. He was headed to the Owlery to send Hannah a message, when he ran into her.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “I was just coming to find you to see if you wanted to get dinner.”

She smiled. “I ate at the Leaky.”

“The Leaky? What were you doing in Diagon Alley?” Had she been there the same time he and Malfoy were at George’s shop?

“I had an interview there.”

“At the Leaky?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling at his daftness. “ _Yes_ , you goon. At the Leaky. It was for a management position. Tom wants to retire.”

“Seriously? That sounds perfect for you. How did it go?”

She smiled brightly. “I got the job.”

“Hannah, that is _brilliant_.” He picked her up and spun her, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

She giggled at his attentions. “I’ll have to learn a few things about cooking.”

“You’ll master it.”

She smirked at him. “We could be a culinary power couple. I’ll run a pub, and you’ll make mind-altering pastries.”

Neville’s face fell. Did she just say…? “Um…I’ll…what?”

She bit her lip. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? We’re sort of…out in the open.”

“Yeah, um…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s…” He could hardly even think straight. How did she know? He was certain his anonymity was protected.

“Your room.”

“Huh?”

“For privacy. You know, since you can’t get into mine.”

“Oh. Right.” _Seriously_ , how did she know?

*

Even in the cozy familiarity of his dorm room, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. What if Hannah broke up with him?

But no. She said something about being a culinary power couple. That meant she wanted to stay with him. Right?

Hannah sat on his bed and grasped his hand. “Hey. I can see those neurotic little wheels turning in your head. You don’t need to worry. I’m not upset you didn’t tell me.”

“You’re not?” Thank Merlin.

“Of course not. I understand.”

“Oh.” Well, that was easy. “Draco didn’t tell Hermione either. We agreed it was best.”

She nodded. “Probably smart to limit the amount of people would know about it.”

“I probably shouldn’t have bothered.” He smirked. “How long have you known?”

She bit her lip. “Well…you might not realize it, but you _do_ sometimes smell of it. I didn’t notice it at first, but then we started…you know.” She blushed, unable to say “fooling around,” as relatively innocent as those words were. “And I got closer to you.”

He raised an impressed eyebrow. “Powers of deduction and _se_ duction.”

She smiled. “I suppose so.” She leaned in and kissed him. It was meant to be an act of assurance that everything was alright between them despite the fact that he had been keeping secrets from her.

Neville, in his relief, pulled her closer and the tone of the kiss shifted into something…more. More adult. More needy. Just…more.

She smiled into the kiss. “Neville,” she whispered. “I think I’m ready.”

He stopped breathing for approximately four seconds. “I, um….”

“It’s alright if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, no, no, no. That’s not it. I _do_ want to. Very much. It’s just…I’ve never…”

She bestowed another one of her healing, assurance kisses upon him. “Let’s just figure it out together, shall we?”

*

Draco stalked over to the spot in the back of the Restricted Section where their whirlwind romance had first begun. The place where he first learned that Hermione Granger gave head that could make a grown man cry.

Sure enough, she was leaning against a bookshelf, her chest flushed from where she had gotten “ready” for him. He growled at the sight. “Sweet hell.”

She grabbed him by the tie and smashed their mouths together.

“You…” _kiss_ , “filthy…” _kiss_ , “ _evil_ little bitch.”

She responded by shoving her hand down his pants and immediately grabbing his dick. He nearly yowled at the feel of it.

“Mmmm. Oh, baby. You’re a bad, bad girl, aren’t you?”

She panted as she languidly pumped him. “Yeah, I’m so bad.”

He bit his lip to keep from crying out as she swiped a finger over his leaking tip. “I’m not even going to silence the area. You need to learn a lesson. So, let’s see how quiet you can be.”

“Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re _fucking mad_ if you think I’m going to take it easy on you.” He lightly bit her bottom lip. “I’m going to fuck the living soul out of you.”

She released a pained little whine from the back of her throat. “Please.”

He grabbed her chin and tilted her face as close to his as possible without kissing her. “Get on your knees and suck me.”

*

“ _Ow_ , Neville. You’re on my hair.”

“Sorry, love.” He flicked his thumb over her clit. He had used his fingers a few times to bring Hannah off, but he had always needed quite a bit of direction. This was all rather new to him. “How does that feel.”

“Good. It…it feels good. Do you think you could…um…dunk a finger or two into me? My clit’s a little too dry right now.”

“Oh. Right.” Bugger, he always forgot that part. “How about now?”

“Mmmm. Much better.”

*

Draco’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he watched his dick disappear into Hermione’s beautiful face. “Just like that, baby,” he urged her on.

She swirled her tongue around the tip, causing him to invent new curse words. “Touch yourself,” he demanded. “Show me how much you like sucking me off.”

She smirked over his cock and eagerly obeyed.

“Jesus fucking…”

She moaned over his cock as she pleasured herself.

“Oh, _shit_.” He pulled her face off of him, knowing that if he allowed her to continue, he was going to come down her throat. As much as he enjoyed doing that, he promised her a hard fucking. And he intended to make good on that promise.

*

“Are you okay?”

Hannah panted lightly. “ _Yeah_. I think so. It…it hurts a bit, but….” She shifted her legs tighter around his waist. “Just keep moving.”

Neville rocked his hips into her. He wanted to close his eyes at the remarkable feel of the heaven he was currently buried inside. “I love you.”

“You…what?”

He instantly stilled his hips. “I um…” _Shit_. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Hannah bit her lip nervously. “So, you don’t mean it?”

“No, I _do_ mean it. I just…I hadn’t planned on…” He sighed. It was awkward to have this conversation when he was inside of her. “You feel _so_ good, and I just…”

She smiled and pulled him in for a deep kiss. “I love you too.”

*

“Alright?” Lawrence Baker addressed a group of fellow fifth year Ravenclaws, surrounded by energy potions and perfectly tabbed outlines, at a table in the library. Despite having swotted mightily for their upcoming OWLs, each was convinced they would fail. Lawrence himself, wasn’t bothered. He pulled a pink lady apple out of his pocket and polished it on his robes.

A frazzled blonde girl who looked like she hadn’t slept in days glared at him. “Aren’t you _at all_ bothered, Lawrence? Don’t you think you should study?”

He shrugged as he chewed the fruit. “Nah.”

Oh, how the other Ravenclaws loathed him.

In that moment, Janet Mantel walked by the table, wearing a ratty old T-shirt of a wizarding punk band called The Rage. “Hey, Lawrence. Did Atkinson get ahold of you earlier?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a slow bite of his apple.

She rolled her eyes. “And?”

He shrugged. “I guess Malfoy got sick of dealing.”

Janet’s eyes widened as she glanced around the table. “ _Lawrence_. Remember Rule Number Six?”

He shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. “We don’t work for him anymore.”

One of the Ravenclaw students looked up from their studying long enough to catch the gist of the conversation. “You know, there’s a bill going up before the Wizengamot sometime soon. Marijuana won’t be illegal for much longer.”

Lawrence’s face broke into a rare smile. “Finally, those worthless fuckers in the government are catching on. I just hope they don’t ruin it for all of us by over-regulating it.”

“They will,” Janet said. “The fucking Man always ruins everything.”

“Word,” said Lawrence, holding up his fist for Janet to bump.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” chanted one of the students, a dark-haired boy with horn-rimmed glasses. “I’ve read this page five times. I didn’t retain any of it.”

“You should smoke a J, man. Calm down a bit,” Lawrence offered.

His fellow eagles all rolled their eyes. “Who has time for that?” the blonde girl asked. “Just because you have no aspirations other than being a drug dealer, doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t want to—”

_Thump, thump, thump._

The Ravenclaws all looked at one another, exchanging ‘did you hear that?’ glances.

_Thump, thump, thump._

“Am I going crazy? Like, have I actually studied myself insane?” the bespectacled boy asked.

_THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!_

“What the _shit_ is that?” Janet asked.

_THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUUUUUUP!!!!!!_

“It’s coming from the back of the library.” the blonde deduced.

Lawrence shrugged and took another bite of his apple. “Probably just people fucking.”

*

“ _Wow_!” Neville panted, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t lasted long, but that had been, without a doubt, the best thing he’d ever done. “Can we do it again?”

Hannah giggled. She, unlike Neville, did not come. But she had enjoyed it all the same. It had been special. It had been sweet. It had been with a boy she loved and who loved her back. All in all, despite the lack of orgasm on her part, it had been everything she expected out of her first time. Neville and her had all the time in the world to learn each other’s bodies together.

And practice makes perfect.

“Get over here.”

*

The sun went down over Hogwarts. Students and teachers alike slowly made their way to their rooms, their bellies uncomfortably full and their heads fuzzy.

Exhausted house elves passed out in their cots, utterly spent after a manic day of marathon cooking. Ernie MacMillian cradled his Head Boy badge to his chest as he curled up in his bed. The group of Ravenclaw fifth years set early alarm charms on their wands so they would be able to get an early start to their studying the next day. Draco and Hermione slept in each other’s arms, sated and happy, each having a side of the bed to which they would remain loyal for the rest of their lives. Neville drew the curtains in his own bed so Hannah could spend the night, free from the eighteen-year-old eyes of Dean and Seamus. Evan Atkinson straightened his vanity, which contained several hair products he suspected Draco used, and fell into bed, wondering if he should dye his hair blond. Janet Mantel finished writing a strongly-worded letter to the Ministry, promising that if they did not pass the bill legalizing marijuana, she would organize a protest so disruptive, it would result in untold levels of paperwork. Lawrence Baker finally finished his apple.

There was peace in the castle. All was well.

“Hello?” cried a hoarse voice from the kitchens. “Could somebody _please_ let Gimpy down from the ceiling? _Anybody_?”

*

The following day, Neville awoke early. He felt different. He felt new.

He had lost his virginity to the girl he loved. He had tens of thousands of Galleons that he didn’t have yesterday. He had a successful business plan on the horizon. And he was pretty sure Draco Malfoy was his best friend.

He couldn’t help but laugh. Life was…strange.

He went for a walk on the grounds to greet the new day. For the first time in a long time, he had no worries. In fact, he wouldn’t change a thing about his life now. As he wandered, he found himself at his greenhouse; the one that had previously held his babies. He would need to find a space after graduation where he could grow more.

It was exciting.

But apparently, he wasn’t the only one who decided to take a walk that morning. “Draco?”

“Hey, Longbottom.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Draco smiled. “I slept terrifically.”

“Gross. Don’t want to hear about it.”

Smirk. “What about you? You have that glow.”

“What glow?”

“Like you’ve just been plucked.” He pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit it with his wand.

Neville couldn’t help but smile. “Shut up.”

“Uh huh.” Draco inhaled. “Banana Shabbot finally popped your guymen.”

“It’s Hannah Ab—” He grinned as Draco handed him the joint. “Yeah. She did.” He inhaled. “This is some good shit.”

“All you, mate. You do grow good shit.” Draco took a hit of the joint. “So.” He inhaled. “I was thinking. I’m getting married soon.”

“I’m aware.”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “You want to be my best man?”

It should have been more of a surprise than it was. But after everything they had been through, Neville could only nod. “Sure.”

“Good.” Draco took another hit. And that’s all he had to say regarding that conversation.

Neville took the joint from him. “We’ll need a new space if we want to grow more plants.”

“We can use the grounds at the Manor. They’re large. Private. The house elves would crucify me if I didn’t give them something to do.”

“Sounds good,” Neville said, nodding his head and taking the final hit of the joint. “And it’ll be fifty/fifty. It should have been that from the start, really. I’d never be able to do what you do.”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not too bothered about the money. It’s just fun.”

Neville chuckled. “It is fucking fun, isn’t it?”

Draco fixed him with a serious look. “Hermione mentioned there’s a bill going up to the Wizengamot next year to legalize it. We’ll have a Ministry agent up our arse to make sure we follow the regulations, but we won’t risk going to Azkaban.”

Neville grinned mischievously. “Have them deal with Whimsy. They’ll probably leave us alone.”

Draco sniggered. “Ready to build an empire, Longbottom?”

The sun arose over the Great Lake. The birds chirped, announcing the morning. The new day was here.

“I’m ready.”

 

_THE END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, my lovelies! New beginnings for all!


End file.
